All Shadows
by Sincere Nonsense
Summary: A quarter of a vorn ago, Senator Shockwave helped cover for Wheeljack so he could go into hiding. A short time later, Shockwave disappeared, but it wasn't in the news and Wheeljack's other friends didn't mention it when he talked to them. Now that Wheeljack knows Shockwave's missing, he's not going to rest until he finds out what happened, and why no one told him about it.
1. Long Lost

WARNING: So... this story is darker than my others—to the point where I almost didn't enjoy writing it. A lot of it's just kind of psychologically disturbing because, you know, brainwashing, but there's also some torture, and a couple of unpleasant deaths. Thought I'd give you a heads-up. If you don't want to vicariously experience what messed Wheeljack up so much in Many Voices, then this is not the story for you.

Also, just a note—like most of my other spin-off stories, this one can technically stand alone, but it makes more sense in the context of Many Voices.

* * *

It started out as a normal orn.

Wheeljack thought it was funny that he'd left Iacon to avoid making weapons for the government, and had immediately gotten a job making grenades in a government factory. Of course, the difference was that these were comparatively harmless. The explosives he made were mostly used for mining—at least that was what they told the factory workers.

Work was a little boring but it was mindless enough that he could think about other things while doing it. He collected spare parts and other materials and sneaked them home to use in his own inventions, and while he pieced grenades together on the assembly line, he amused himself by thinking of ways to make them more efficient, and more powerful.

"Hey," the mech standing next to Wheeljack said. They were discouraged from talking to each other, but so long as no one started making mistakes because of it, you didn't really get in trouble.

Wheeljack nodded. "Hi. What's up?"

The other mech smiled. "Not that much."

"How's your sparkling doing?"

"Good," the other mech said. "How about you? You need to find yourself a femme, Jackie."

Wheeljack shook his helm. He didn't think any femme would want to be bonded with someone who was hiding from the government.

Wheeljack wondered sometimes how long this would go on. This wasn't the absolute worst situation he could be in, but he missed the freedom of being a student, and having projects and professors and lots of highly educated mecha to talk to. He didn't want to be here for the rest of his life.

"Hey," the other mech said. "Have you heard about that rebellion in Iacon?"

There was a rebellion in Iacon? Perceptor hadn't mentioned anything… though he had talked about Orion wanting to do something to fight the Council. "Not really."

"I heard there's something going on up there," the other mech said. "They're calling it Autobot."

"Huh," Wheeljack said.

"I wasn't sure I wanted to bother looking into it at first," the other mech said, "But they might actually be doing something. They want to get support from the city, then go get an audience from the Council."

"To talk about what?" Wheeljack said. "The Council's stubborn, and dangerous. Trust me, I've lived in Iacon, and I'm friends with a senator who used to complain about it all the time. What exactly does this group want changed?"

The other mech shrugged. "Don't know. But they seem to talk a lot about the government making mecha disappear, and how that's wrong.

"Huh," Wheeljack said.

"They got a bunch of mecha to help them make a list and post it all over the place."

Wheeljack wondered if Searchlight's designation was on that list. He'd have to look into it later.

"That's interesting," he said. "I wonder… I think I know one mech who the government made disappear… of course, that was in secondary school."

"Really?" the other mech said. "What was his designation?"

"Searchlight."

"Hmmm… the other mech looked down and fixed something inside of the grenade he was working on. "I can't remember seeing any Searchlights on there… maybe there was one… uh… there was a Wheeljack, though."

"Oh…" Wheeljack hesitated.

Silence stretched between them with the unanswered question hanging in the atmosphere. Wheeljack wanted to tell him—he really did. But though he didn't think this mech would turn him in, he couldn't be so sure about some of his other co-workers. And even if they didn't, they might talk about him to their friends.

"Must be some other Wheeljack," Wheeljack said. "If the government had made me disappear, would I be standing in an assembly line building grenades?"

"Guess that's true," the other mech said, sounding slightly disappointed and not one hundred percent convinced.

Wheeljack sighed and went back to work. "Do you know who's in charge of this… Autobot thing?"

"Nope," the other mech said. "I couldn't find that out. Do you have any ideas? You _did_ live in Iacon, right?"

"Well, I didn't know everyone. If it _is_ anyone I know, then they haven't told me. I might check it out, though… I'm not exactly the Council's biggest fan."

The other mech lowered his voice. "Me either. Maybe that's why we're friends. Of course, I'm not about to join some rebellion… call me a coward, but I've got a femme and sparkling to look after."

Wheeljack shook his helm. "Nah, you're not a coward."

"Thanks," his friend said. They worked in companionable silence for most of the shift after that, interspersed by short conversations about the weather or sports, or grenade assembly.

When the shift was over, Wheeljack slipped the few spare parts and pieces he'd gathered into a pocket. They had subspace scanners that made sure you weren't stealing company property, but they didn't scan for what was in normal pockets. Most mecha didn't even have those in their adult frames.

Wheeljack headed home, unable to get that rebellion out of his processor. Perceptor had usually seemed kind of distant whenever he commed, and Wheeljack had been his student long enough to recognize a note of discomfort in his voice sometimes. He'd been withholding information of some sort. Wheeljack hadn't called him out on it, because he wasn't entirely sure, and he usually got distracted before he could remember to mention it.

Maybe it had something to do with Autobot. But why wouldn't they want Wheeljack to know about that? It wasn't as if he was a security threat. He was keeping his own secrets well enough.

Wheeljack's apartment had been pretty boring when he'd first arrived in it, and it still felt a little small sometimes, but he had made it livable. It was littered with bits and pieces of inventions, and blueprints covered the walls.

He sighed and sat at his desk, then unloaded the bits and pieces he'd picked up this orn. It wasn't stealing, not really. You were supposed to throw this stuff away, because it was defective. Wheeljack needed some of it for something he was working on.

There were a lot of things he wanted to build that he didn't have the materials for. He could only make things out of pieces of grenades… but that was just part of the challenge. And surprisingly, there'd only been one explosion so far. Fortunately, the landlord had been very understanding, and had given him another chance.

He turned his computer on, and started tinkering with one piece he'd brought home. It had a defect, but Wheeljack could fix it, and then he could use it in his project. It was exactly what he needed.

He looked up when he was finished to find that his computer had started up breems ago. Why had he turned on his computer again?

Oh, yes, to look up the rebellion in Iacon.

He was careful when he searched for it. He was pretty sure any information on it would be cut from the public database, so he tried a more open city-wide network.

It didn't take very long for him to find what he was looking for—Autobot's list of mecha the government had gotten rid of. Searchlight's designation was up there at the top of the list. And shortly below him…

No.

Wheeljack stared at the screen, unwilling to believe it.

Senator Shockwave.

That couldn't be right.

That couldn't be right. Shockwave was fine. They would have told him if something had happened. Wheeljack pulled up the public database and searched Shockwave's designation.

There was nothing, so he broadened his search, frantically requesting files from the database. Within breems it became clear that according to public record, no mech named Shockwave had ever even been a senator.

Still hardly daring to believe it, Wheeljack went back to the underground database and searched for his friend's designation there. Here, he would surely find something.

It took half a breem. He found an article, written about how senators kept disappearing. It had a section about Shockwave, how he had been seen entering the Council Hall, but never leaving it. How Paradigm had been found dead the same orn. How there had never been an investigation.

Wheeljack didn't finish reading. He shut his computer down and spun his chair around. Across the room, on the walls, his blueprints flickered in their holographic frames.

Shockwave was... gone. Missing.

Why? Why had no one told him? This must be some sort of joke, or mistake—it didn't make any sense. Wheeljack shuttered his optics, not really sure how to feel.

How to feel?

His best friend had disappeared and they hadn't even bothered to _tell_ him.

When? When had this happened? He spun back to his computer, and looked it up. Almost a quarter of a vorn ago. Less than a decaorn after Wheeljack had been forced to leave. This had happened just after he'd gone—maybe _because_ he'd gone. Shockwave had been helping him—protecting him.

This couldn't be happening.

He hadn't talked to Shockwave since then. But he'd just assumed it was because Shockwave was busy, or didn't want to risk giving the Council information about him. Wheeljack had occasionally passed Perceptor messages for his best friend. "Tell Shockwave, I'm doing all right. Tell him if he and Paradigm have a sparkling, they should let me know. Ask him if he remembers what professor Arcana said about sonic disturbance damaging primary mental functions." Perceptor had never given him replies from Shockwave, but half the time, Wheeljack had forgotten that he'd asked the question by the next time he talked, and when he'd remembered, he'd just assumed Perceptor had forgotten, or that Shockwave had been busy and they hadn't had time to talk to each other.

He had asked how Shockwave was doing at some point, surely. Perceptor must have lied to him then. They'd all lied to him.

He very nearly commed Perceptor so he could demand to know what was going on, but stopped himself. Why? There had to be a why about this.

This had happened just after Wheeljack had left—just orns after Wheeljack had left. He had spent the last quarter of a vorn thinking that his friend was all right, still fighting for the good of society, brave and noble and good in a Council of liars and murderers.

Wheeljack looked down at his shaking hands. He had run away and hid like a coward, leaving his best friend to clean up his mess, leaving his best friend in danger. Now Shockwave was gone.

Able to stand it no longer, Wheeljack got up and started pacing. He still didn't want to believe this. Had Shockwave _known_ this would happen? Had he made the rest of them promise not to say anything to Wheeljack? How could they do that to him? He had trusted them—all of them. Soundwave and Orion and Ratchet and Perceptor, and Accord and Dion.

Paradigm was offline.

Was Shockwave?

Wheeljack went back to his computer. He didn't want to do this, but he needed to know. He started looking for any evidence that his best friend had died.

He could find none. There were a lot of speculations about what happened to senators and high-ranking officials who disappeared. None of them ever turned up as bodies.

Wheeljack tried to construct what must have happened in his processor. He had gone into hiding, and then orns later, Shockwave had disappeared. Not necessarily dead, just gone. But they hadn't told Wheeljack? Why?

Wheeljack would have come back. He would have insisted they look for Shockwave.

Maybe Perceptor had kept him in the dark because he'd been afraid Wheeljack would try to find Shockwave, and then get in trouble too. But... that wasn't Perceptor's choice to make.

Wheeljack crossed his arms on the desk, and buried his helm in them, frustrated and guilty. He had run and hid like a coward while Shockwave had taken the fall for him.

Now what could he do?

If they had lied to him, there must be a reason.

They would have told him if Shockwave had died.

He could still be out there somewhere.

* * *

Wheeljack somehow managed to fit everything he owned in subspace. He toyed with the idea of leaving a message on the computer, but there was no way to tell who would find it.

He didn't owe Perceptor an explanation anyway.

He left for work, but this orn would be different. Instead of clocking in and going to take his place on the line, Wheeljack went straight to his manager's office.

The manager looked up at him. "Yes? What is it?"

"I'm resigning," Wheeljack said. "Here." He held out a datapad with the proper documentation. "Thank you for the job, sir."

The supervisor took the document, frowning at it. "This is sudden…" He looked down at the paper.

"I know," Wheeljack said. "I'm sorry for the trouble, but I'm leaving."

"Why?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "It's nothing against you or the factory or anything, I've just been called away to do something else. Thank you, sir."

"Thank you," the manager said. "Are you really certain about this?"

"Yes," Wheeljack said.

"Very well… if you are ever looking for a job around here again, be sure that we would be happy to hire you. You were a good worker."

Wheeljack nodded. "Thank you, I will."

Then, before the manager could ask him again why he was quitting, Wheeljack left his office and the factory, and then got on a mass transit leaving the city. He had spent most of the off-cycle trying to figure out everything he could about what happened to the senators who vanished, and where they were taken to.

He was going to find Shockwave—if he was still online—and free him.

He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't try. He knew his friend would do the same for him.

On the mass transit, he second guessed himself a few times, and felt a little guilty about not saying anything to Perceptor. But he was still angry at them for not telling him. It was a betrayal he wasn't prepared to forgive yet. And he knew he could never trust them again.

He slipped into recharge on the transit—He hadn't gotten much the off-cycle before—but woke up before he got to his stop. Altihex, the leading city in science. Wheeljack had once anticipated living and working here.

Things didn't always go the way you planned.

* * *

The first off-cycle, Wheeljack got a room in a hotel with the fake ID Soundwave had gotten for him. He had researched fake identification a little, and determined that the one he had was actually better quality than most. Good old Soundwave, always the overachiever. Wheeljack wondered what Soundwave had thought about keeping him in the dark. And what Ratchet had thought.

He wasn't sure where to start looking. The most common and well-supported rumor was that missing senators went to some place called the Institute. Supposedly it was a government research facility in Altihex. But everything Wheeljack had found about it was either vague or very speculative, and rumors weren't much to go off of.

He started by checking a lot of maps on the public databases. But Altihex was a city _full_ of research facilities. To break into each one and sneak around, looking for his best friend… that wasn't going to work.

Perceptor commed him around the middle of the on-cycle. Probably just a regular check-in. Wheeljack ignored him. He didn't want to talk to Perceptor right now, or possibly ever again.

He put in a request to change his comm. code so that he couldn't be contacted. He changed the code for his datapad's messaging system as well, because he knew Perceptor would try that. The professor would be worried about him, but at the moment, Wheeljack didn't really care. Perceptor had lied to him—intentionally.

That off-cycle, Wheeljack went back to his hotel and set up his computer. With the credit he had, he could probably stay here for two or three decaorns. He had that long to find Shockwave and break him out. After that, he'd probably need to comm. Perceptor and get help. There was no telling what state Wheeljack's best friend would be in—if he was alive at all. Wheeljack didn't want to believe _any_ of the speculations he'd seen about what happened in this 'Institute' place.

He started by searching the public database for government owned facilities. There were some research facilities you could tour. Those ones were probably out. The Institute would be smaller and probably not open to the public at all. It might even be disguised as something that wasn't a research facility, which broadened the search a lot.

Wheeljack had to give up after a few joors. He was stressed, and needed to build something. He pulled everything out of his subspace and built a small grenade from the parts he had, right there in the hotel room. Then he built another. He had enough parts for several. Not that he needed grenades. He wasn't really certain what he might want to use them for, but it was nice to take things apart and put them together again.

Finally, he felt ready to continue his search. He had narrowed it down to all of the less public buildings in the city, but that left him with a list of more than a thousand in the central sector alone. No good. And there was still a chance that the Institute wasn't here, or that it didn't exist in the first place. Wheeljack needed more information, but if this place existed, it was a very well-kept secret.

Frustrated and running out of patience again, Wheeljack searched for buildings related to the word 'institute.'

He got about fifty results. Not that the government would paint the word in big blue letters above the door, but it didn't hurt to try.

He scrolled down, thoughtful. A lot of these were hospitals or schools.

He stopped about halfway down. This was no use.

But why did they call it the "Institute"? That sounded more like a school than a research facility. Wheeljack skimmed through the list again, looking for anything that stood out.

If he was the Council, where would he hide a secret reprogramming facility? Somewhere no one would look. Somewhere you could send mecha without anyone getting suspicious. A school was actually not a bad idea. But then what if normal mecha tried to enroll too? Surely someone would notice.

It probably wasn't just a random warehouse, because they'd want good security, and it would be hard to have that in a warehouse without making someone suspicious.

But if it was a hospital… they would have too much traffic. And they'd either have to keep it very, very secret or have every doctor and nurse in on it. That didn't make any sense. You needed somewhere with a smaller staff than a regular hospital, and fewer patients coming and going.

He stopped and scrolled back up a little to read one of the entries near the top.

[Altihex Institution for the Mentally Ill.]

Wheeljack stared at the computer screen. He really, _really_ didn't like the sound of that. Hiding a research facility in a mental hospital.

But it almost made sense. It would work, too. And it would explain why they called it the "Institute."

A chill crept up Wheeljack's spinal struts.

If Shockwave was in there, Wheeljack needed to get him out as quickly as possible.

* * *

It was just a hunch, really, which was dangerous. But, Wheeljack figured sneaking into a hospital was less dangerous than trying to sneak into a government research facility.

He had checked the mental facility out. It seemed to be legitimately what it claimed to be, but if the Institute really was there, it was probably just one ward of the facility. It might even be something most of the workers didn't know about, or at least didn't ask questions about. He wished he had Soundwave's hacking skills, because information about the patients and the mecha who worked there wasn't on the public databases.

He could try to sneak into the building somehow, but if he got caught he'd be in a lot of trouble. However, if he could find out the designation of one of the patients, he'd be able to get in to visit them, and then hope for a chance to look around a little. It took a joor of searching, but eventually he found a news article about a mech who'd gone to the mental hospital.

He left most of his belongings at the hotel, but brought the grenades and his identification. He hid the grenades in his pockets instead of in subspace because there was a possibility they would scan for them.

And then he headed for the mental institution.

There was a femme at the front desk. She didn't look up at first, intent on something she was typing into her computer console. Then she noticed him and smiled cheerfully. "Can I help you?"

"Uh, yes," Wheeljack said. "I'd like to talk to a patient, please."

"Oh, sure. Are you a friend or sibling?"

"Yes," Wheeljack said. "Just a friend. It's been a while since I've seen him. I didn't even know he was here until a few orns ago."

"Oh," the receptionist said. "I'm sorry. What's his designation?"

Wheeljack gave her the designation of the mech he'd read about. The receptionist checked her database. "Yep, he's here. I'll comm. ahead and let them know that he has a visitor. Thank you so much for dropping by. We don't get very many mecha here."

"No problem," Wheeljack said. "Like I say, the mech's a friend.

The receptionist waved him through a scanner gate. Wheeljack didn't dare to vent as he stepped through.

Nothing happened.

"So, just wait in that hallway and someone will come get you," the receptionist said. "All right?"

"Thank you," Wheeljack said, barely believing his luck. He could go exploring without even having to talk to the mech he was supposedly visiting, and then if he ran into anyone he could pretend to be lost.

He walked through the indicated doorway into the empty hall behind the secretary and kept going past the waiting benches there. The hallway was curved and Wheeljack was willing to bet if he walked down it, he'd eventually circle around to where he'd started. There were regularly spaced doors on either side. If he didn't find another hallway, he'd have to start trying doors.

Something clicked behind him and he turned around to see a door open and a large mech step through it into the hall.

"Oh, hi," Wheeljack said. "I'm sorry, I'm lost, can you help me…"

"Put your hands up where I can see them," the mech said, shifting his arm into a gun.

Wheeljack took half a step back, and then glanced up at the ceiling where a security camera hung.

"Camera can't see you," the other mech said. "Don't make me shoot you."

Wheeljack heard another door open behind him, and another mech come entered the hall. "I… don't understand," he said.

"Come with us," a voice behind him said. "Come on, mech."

He turned around. The second mech had the same color scheme and insignia on his shoulders. They were some kind of security guard.

Well, this was great.

He suddenly hoped that he had been wrong and this place was just a normal mental hospital.

He let the guards lead him through one of the doors they'd come through, down some stairs and to a spacious office full of medical equipment.

He was shoved roughly into a chair and one of the guards put stasis cuffs on him while the other accessed his subspace and emptied it—not that there was much in there. Then they searched him until they found his normal pockets and took his grenades away.

He probably shouldn't have brought those. They must have scanned for external weapons as well as subspaced ones.

"I'm still not sure—"

"Shut up," one of the guards said, powering up his gun and standing just off to the side of Wheeljack's chair. The other guard left the room.

Well, this was a mess. What had he been thinking, bringing bombs into a hospital? Even if this was just some harmless mental hospital, he was definitely going to be arrested. They'd turn him over to the government.

He didn't have too long to berate himself for being an idiot before another, different mech came in. This one was wearing official government colors, and had a small insignia on his shoulder that meant he had graduated from the Academy… specializing in medicine if Wheeljack was reading the glyphs under the insignia correctly.

"Hello," the medic said cheerfully, and pulled over a chair so he could sit across from Wheeljack. "So, what have we here?"

Wheeljack looked down.

"Care to tell me what you were doing bringing grenades into my hospital?"

"I'm very sorry," Wheeljack said. "I forgot I had those. I must have picked them up accidentally. I really didn't mean any harm with them."

The other mech almost looked… disappointed. Then he shook his helm. "That seems a little unlikely to me," he said. "But we shall see. What's your designation?"

Wheeljack gave the mech his fake name, and the mech nodded thoughtfully. "It's not so often we have an intruder here. Let's see… I took the liberty of looking at those grenades the guards confiscated. They look factory-made, though one of them is a defective. Where did you get them? They're government property, you know."

Wheeljack was saved from answering when the door opened and the other guard came in.

"Sir," he said. "We ran some checks on his ID and it's fake. We haven't got a clue who he is. He worked at a factory in Polyhex for the past quarter, but quit a few orns ago. Should we send a team to his hotel room to pick everything up there?"

The Academy mech looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, please."

The guard left and Wheeljack once again found himself under the scrutiny of the Academy mech.

"So," his questioner said, "That was not your real designation. Do you mind telling me what it is, and what exactly you hoped to accomplish here?"

"Um… I…"

This was not good at all.

"Come now," the medic said. "It is in your best interest to tell the truth. If this really is some sort of horrible mistake, we would be perfectly happy to help you sort it out and be on your way."

"Have you commed enforcement?" Wheeljack asked.

"Not yet. I want to hear your side of the story first."

"You should comm. enforcement. They probably should arrest me, you know. After all, I did bring bombs into a hospital. That's an act of terrorism, right?"

The medic nodded. "Indeed it is."

"Then what are you waiting for? My side of the story right there. I came to blow the place up. Comm. Enforcement."

The medic shook his helm. "Not unless you tell me your designation, and where you're from, and how many mecha will come looking for you if you disappear."

Wheeljack met the medic's optics.

"You look a little nervous, but that third part didn't surprise you," the mech said, then shook his helm with a world-weary sigh. "You know you're not the first one to come try and destroy my work."

The door opened and the security guards came back in.

"Bring him," the medic said. "We have to find out who he is and what he's here for, and if he has contacts on the outside who know about this place.

The guards grabbed Wheeljack and followed the medic into a different room. No, this was definitely not a regular mental hospital. Wheeljack was in more trouble than he had ever been in his entire life, wasn't he? Had he been right? Was the Institute here?

Not that it did him any good to be here if he was a prisoner.

They walked down a set of stairs, and then another and another, until Wheeljack was certain they were underground. They finally came to a small, sterile-looking room with a berth and numerous pieces of unusual-looking equipment on the counters.

"Oh, good," the medic said. "No one's working in here right now. Put him on the berth."

"Wait…" Wheeljack said.

The guards took the stasis cuffs off of him and shoved him down on the berth to restrain him there.

"Wait, what's going on?" Wheeljack said.

"It would be very helpful for us," the medic said. "If you would cooperate and answer our questions. If not, we will try persuading you."

Wheeljack hesitated.

"First, let's start with something easy," the medic bent over him, and Wheeljack gasped as something was pried away from his neck. "My designation is Neurosis. Now what's yours?"

Wheeljack froze. He had heard of the medic. This medic had been sentenced to lifelong imprisonment for illegal experimentation.

Neurosis stuck something into his neck. Wheeljack gasped. It hurt, and he was even more afraid than he had been before.

"I'll ask one more time," Neurosis said. "What is your designation. Tell me."

Wheeljack looked away, refusing to speak—more out of fear than anything else.

He was suddenly filled with pain like he had never experienced before. It wasn't plasmatic energon—he'd been shocked before—it was something different, worse. He couldn't even scream until it went away.

Then he lay on the berth, venting heavily, gasping.

"What is your designation?" Neurosis asked again.

"W-Wheeljack," he stuttered. "I'm Wheeljack."

"Very good," Neurosis said, and signaled at one of the guards, who left the room. "Next question. How did you find us?"

"Find who?" Wheeljack asked. Pain drowned him again. It felt as if his entire neural net was on fire, like he was being eaten away by acid.

When it finally stopped this time, he screamed and fought his restraints.

"How did you find us?" Neurosis repeated.

"It was… it was a lucky guess," Wheeljack said. "This is the Institute, right?"

"A lucky guess?" Neurosis asked, "I find that difficult to believe."

"I was just looking…" Wheeljack gasped and let out a shaking whimper, "For a friend, I… I promise, I was just looking for Shockwave."

Neurosis was silent.

"He… he disappeared, but no one told me, not for the whole quarter. I found out a few orns ago, and came looking for him. There were rumors they sent… senators to the Institute and rumors the Institute was in this city. I thought… I thought it would make sense for it to be in a mental hospital instead of an official research facility, because…. Because they seemed to be hiding it so hard."

"Hmmm," Neurosis said. "That seems extremely unlikely. Did someone tell you where we were?"

"No," Wheeljack said.

The pain came back. This time it stayed so long, Wheeljack thought he would overload and shut down. When it finally retreated, he couldn't talk for half a breem.

Neurosis waited patiently, then asked. "Who helped you find us?"

"No one," Wheeljack sobbed. "No one, I swear, I swear. Please, no one knows I've come here. It was just a lucky guess—just the first place I was going to look."

Neurosis reached for a control panel.

"Please!" Wheeljack screamed. "Please, please don't, I'm telling the truth, please…" He braced himself, but the pain didn't come. Neurosis seemed to consider his words. "Please," he said again, suddenly disgusted with himself for his begging, but unable to stop.

"We will wait and see what comes up about your designation and decide if you are lying when we have more information."

Wheeljack lay back on the berth, shaking. He could still feel an echo of the pain, and he couldn't believe this was actually happening. Like a sparkling, he started to weep. What an idiot he was. He should have gone to get help. As it was, no one would be able to find him. He hadn't even left a note for Perceptor.

Maybe that was good, though. No one knew anything, so no one else would get in trouble.

Too soon, a guard came in and handed Neurosis a datapad. Neurosis studied it in silence for nearly a breem.

"So," he said. "You are Wheeljack, a former student at the Iacon Academy, and friends with senator Shockwave like you said… hmm, Soundwave too. Interesting. Did you know he was one of my patients, a very long time ago."

Wheejack looked up. "What?"

"Apparently not," Neurosis said, with a wave of his hand. "Let's see… it looks like you disappeared not long before Senator Shockwave did… ah, the government wanted you to develop weapons based on your spark energy research. Hmmm… we'll have to see if they still want you or not. We can't just let you _go,_ not now that you know this place is here, not without uprooting it and moving it again." Neurosis shook his helm. "If you'll excuse me, I have to place a comm. Drench, would you kindly take over here. The patient ought to fill out this questionnaire," He pulled a datapad from subspace and handed it to one of the guards, before leaving the room.

The guard, Drench sat in Neurosis's chair, grinning down at the control panel.

"Okay, mech," Drench said. "Let's see what you're hiding from us."

Wheeljack braced himself.

* * *

Neurosis waited impatiently for a superior to answer his comm. He really didn't have time for this, but it would be worth it. He needed more test subjects, and they were hard to come by, especially with that stupid rebel group up in Iacon who were now trying to keep track of when mecha disappeared.

Wheeljack was perfect. He knew too much about the Institute to let him go, even to give him to another government program. They could wipe his memory, of course, but hopefully he'd be more valuable to them if Neurosis could convince him to help them with the spark energy research. They were having more and more reliable success with shadowplay. There were still things to work on of course, but the successes had been _successes._

He just needed more subjects.

Finally, he got through.

"Hello?" the mech on the other end of the line asked.

"Hello," Neurosis said. "This is 7-delta-9 of the sigma research grant, who am I speaking to?"

The other mech spoke his clearance code, and indicated that the line was secure. "You have something to report?"

"Yes," Neurosis said. "I have apprehended an intruder in my facility."

"An intruder?"

"Yes," Neurosis said. "I believe he was attempting to free one of my subjects. I will send you information pertaining to him. I… would like to make a request."

"Yes?"

"I want him as a patient."

There was silence for an astrosecond on the other end. "Who is he?"

"He's been missing for a quarter already," Neurosis said. "He went into hiding after the military requested that he make weapons for them… but now that he knows where the Institute is, he'll be more trouble than he's worth for you."

Silence on the other end.

"I can transmit the information I have if you like."

"That would be appreciated."

Neurosis transmitted the file they'd cobbled together about Wheeljack. Then he sat back in his office chair to wait, thinking over the possibilities.

This Wheeljack had spark, even if he was inexperienced and easy to break. He was barely more than a fledgling, really. Not nearly as determined as Shockwave, no doubt, but he'd found the Institute. Not many did that, and never working alone. If Neurosis could successfully turn him… He could be very useful to the government.

And if Neurosis could make mecha more useful to the government, the Council would be pleased, then Neurosis would get more funding and more test subjects.

He was waiting for nearly half a joor before his comm. was returned. The mech at the other end told him he could keep Wheeljack.

Perfect.

He left his office and returned to the operating room he'd left Wheeljack in. The mech was trembling and whimpering while the guards laughed. What idiots. Waste of good energy. Well, if Wheeljack had had any secrets he hadn't wanted them to know about how he'd found the Institute, he probably didn't anymore.

"All right," Neurosis went over to the berth. "Turn that thing off, and take him down to the cells. He's going to be a patient now."

Wheeljack cried out as Neurosis disconnected him from the sensory emulator. The guards helped him to his pedes, and supported—well, more like dragged—him out of the room. Neurosis sat down at his computer, and entered Wheeljack into the computer system, making a few notes about his initial personality and resilience.

He wasn't going to be difficult. Three or four rounds at the most.

"Let's see…" Neurosis muttered to himself. "We should give you a little time to get acclimatized to your surroundings, and simply observe you for a few orns to read your personality… let's schedule you to begin round one, phase one in two orns. That should give you plenty of time." Neurosis sighed. "Looking for Shockwave, huh? He's too critical right now. Maybe we'll introduce them to each other in a quartex or two, when they're both a little more stable. That will make a good test run. For now, though, Wheeljack, you just go get to know your fellow patients."


	2. Primus Grant That I Die Innocent

The cell door clanged shut and Wheeljack lay on the ground, listening to the footsteps of the guards as they walked away. There was a sort of residual ache all through his frame, and his spark was still pulsing rapidly.

He didn't move until he heard the more distant sound of another door closing

Then he took a deep, shaky vent and looked up.

Dim, flickering lights lined the ceiling, illuminating the room poorly. There were cells along three of the walls, and the fourth wall just had a short flight of stairs leading up to a door—the room's only exit.

The majority of the cells were occupied. He could hear whimpering coming from one of them, and what sounded eerily like quiet laughter from another. They had bars, instead of walls, so you could look through and see the others.

Most of them seemed to be staring at him.

"Hello?" he said. It sounded wrong in the silence, and immediately he was sorry for talking.

"Hi," a cheerful voice said from his left and he looked to see a blue and white mech with ligh green optics smiling at him from the next cell over. "What's your designation?"

"Um…" Wheeljack said.

"I'm Downtime," the other mech said, still smiling encouragingly. "It's—"

"Shut up!" The mech across from Wheeljack snarled, cutting Downtime off. "I'm trying to recharge, you useless piece of scrap metal!"

Downtime sighed. "Sorry."

"You didn't say what your designation was," a mech across the room came to the front of his cell.

"Wheeljack. I… What… is this place?"

"You don't know?" the other mech asked.

"Lets all introduce ourselves first," Downtime said. "Going around the circle, we have Formulaic, Nanolight is the one crying—he'll be better in a joor or so…"

"I'm Wayfinder," a femme in the cell on the far wall said in a thin voice that sounded forcedly cheerful.

Downtime nodded.

"I'm Zinc," the next mech said dully.

"Trueblade."

"What is this, primary school?" the one who'd snapped at Downtime earlier said.

"That's Borealis," the mech next to him said. "I'm Highnote."

"Yep," Downtime said. "And the mech who's laughing is Scramble. He'll probably be like that for a while. It was worse earlier. Stage five isn't so bad, but it's creepy for the rest of us."

"Oh, shut up," the copper-colored femme, the one he'd called Formulaic said dully.

"What?" Downtime said

Shockwave wasn't here. Feeling sick, Wheeljack scooted to sit against the wall. The floor of his cell was stained with what looked like dried energon.

He shuttered his optics and tried not to think about that. "What's… stage five?" he asked.

But Downtime's attention was still on the femme in the next cell over, who was sitting against the back wall of her cell as well, staring motionlessly across the room.

"Form?" Downtime said.

"You can't say anything's 'not so bad' in here," Formulaic deadpanned. "You're going to give him the wrong idea."

"Yeah," Borealis said. "And what about _you,_ huh Form? At least Downtime's not sitting around moping during _respite_ like you are! You're one to fragging complain!"

The others, including Formulaic, ignored the vehement outburst.

"There's no point in scaring him," Downtime said, and looked back at Wheeljack. "So how'd you end up in here? It's been a while… Nano's the newest before you, and he got here… well, I'm not sure. It couldn't have been _that_ long since he's still only on stage one."

"Probably about three or four decaorns," Highnote said.

There was a choked, sobbing sound from the back of the room, and Wheeljack looked over to see the femme, Wayfinder, crouched on the ground with her arms around herself, shaking.

"I feel like it's been longer than that," Downtime said. "But you could be right."

"Is… she ok?" Wheeljack asked.

"Oh, Wayfinder? Yes, she'll be all right." Downtime smiled confidently at Wheeljack.

There was something... not quite right about that. He was far too cheerful.

"She's on stage four," Highnote said, as if that explained everything.

"Wait," Wheeljack said. "What are these stages? And… what do you mean you don't know how long it's been? You should just be able to reference your memories and…"

"They do stuff that messes with your internal timepiece," Highnote said. "I don't think it's on purpose. Probably just a side effect."

Wheeljack took a deep vent and let it out slowly. "Like… what do you mean?"

"It's not really important," Downtime said. "For now, why don't you tell us how you ended up in here."

"Why do you want to know?" Wheeljack asked, suspicious.

The laughing mech, Scramble, or whatever his designation was, quieted down for a moment, but then started giggling maniacally again.

"You don't have to tell us, if you don't want to," Downtime said. "But it's kind of nice to get to know everyone. Besides, we don't have that much else to do, other than talk about plans for once we're out of here."

" _Out of here_?" Borealis snapped. "Would you just shut the frag up you idiot! No one's getting out of here!"

Downtime looked expectantly at Wheeljack.

"Oh," Wheeljack said. They'd asked him a question. "Um… this is… this is the Institute, right?"

"Yeah," Downtime said. "I think that's what they call it, yes."

"Yes," Highnote said. "So…"

Wheeljack looked down. "I was actually looking for this place. I thought one of my friends might have been here."

They were silent for a few klicks.

"I'm sorry." Downtime's voice was suddenly somber. "This is not a good place to find friends."

"Yeah," Wheeljack said. "I kind of picked up on that. I was going to try and rescue him. I guess that was stupid."

"You got that right," Borealis grumbled.

Wheeljack tried not to let that hurt.

Pit, what had he gotten himself into? He shouldn't be here. He should have contacted Perceptor. The professor would have talked him out of this.

"What was his designation?" Downtime asked.

Wheeljack looked up.

"If he was here, especially recently, some of us might remember him."

"Shockwave."

"What?"

Wheeljack looked over to see Formulaic staring at him.

"He was here?" Wheeljack asked.

"He was here," she said.

"Where is he now?"

The intensity faded from her expression and she turned away, looking dull and lifeless again. She didn't answer.

"He must have been gone a while," Downtime said. "I don't think he was here when I came."

"Form?" Highnote asked.

"He was in Trueblade's cell," Formulaic said dully.

"Hmm," Highnote said. "That cell was empty when I got here."

Silence fell, save for the laughing and the quiet whimpering coming from the corner cell beyond Formulaic's.

"Hey," Wayfinder said with a thin, forced-looking smile. She had stopped crying while they'd been talking. "We should give him the bolt. Who has it?"

"Nano has it, you idiot!" Borealis snapped.

"Right!" Downtime said brightly. "Of course. The bolt. Nanolight? Nano, hey, Nano, can you hear me mech?"

The whimpering stopped, and everyone went quiet to listen to the thin, shaky voice that came from the cell.

"Go aw-w-wway," Nanolight stuttered. "G-g-go away."

"Stop whimpering and give Formulaic the slagging bolt!" Borealis said. "Or I'll come in there and rip your useless voice box out!"

"Borealis!" someone else hissed, but then Nanolight started screaming, and it was loud enough you couldn't hear much over it.

"Borealis," Formulaic deadpanned. "Shut the frag up."

"You shut up, femme! You should _all_ just shut up! Why don't you make that screeching nuisance in the cell next to you shut up!"

Eventually Nanolight's screaming died back down to whimpers.

"Sorry about that," Downtime said. "You'll get used to it. He'll be better in a joor or so."

"What's the bolt?" Wheeljack asked.

"Right," Downtime said. "We've found a loose bolt. It's not much good, I mean, you can't kill yourself with it or anything, and if someone tries, it'll probably get taken away from us. But we give it to newcomers to write with. On the wall at the back of each cell. We all scratch some sort of message there, along with our designation. You can think about what you want yours to be, and when you're ready, or when Nano's feeling better, we'll get you the bolt so you can do it."

Wheeljack turned to look at the wall he was leaning against, then stood up and backed away. There were seven designations there already. Each with a phrase etched into the metal after it. He recognized one message as a line from a famous poem. Some were proclamations of defiance against their captors. One was a message of encouragement to future occupants of the cell.

He didn't want to add to it. That would make this real.

But…

Wheeljack took in a deep vent. "Hey, uh, Trueblade?"

The blue and black mech in the cell across from Formulaic came to the bars. He had a vacant, mournful expression on his faceplate.

"Could you..." Wheeljack said. "Shockwave was in your cell, before you, right? Did he write something?"

Trueblade's frown deepened. "I don't see why it mattters," he said quietly.

"Please," Wheeljack said.

"Come on," Downtime said. "Just read it. I want to hear it too."

Trueblade vented a deep sigh and turned away.

Wheeljack waited while the other mech searched the wall at the back of his cell, and then eventually turned around again and came back to the bars. "He must have known about this place," he said. "He shouldn't have wasted his words."

"What did he write?"

Trueblade met Wheeljack's optics solemnly. "Primus grant that I die innocent."

* * *

Downtime and Highnote continued to ask Wheeljack about himself, about what he'd done before, and how he'd found the Institute. Wayfinder joined in the conversation after a while too. But they all dodged his questions whenever he tried to ask them about what this place actually _was,_ so he eventually gave up on talking.

As Downtime had said, the mech named Nanolight calmed down after a joor or so. The laughing one, Scramble, didn't, and was still giggling when the bolt was passed from Nanolight to Formulaic, to Downtime, to Wheeljack.

Wheeljack wasn't sure what he was going to write, so he just sat there, looking at it.

"So," he said at length. One more try couldn't hurt. "Downtime."

"Yeah?"

"I really… I guess I understand why you wouldn't want to talk about it, but I need to know what exactly this place is."

Downtime sighed. "The thing is… I believe…" he frowned. "They're researching a new kind of brainwashing. Or something like that. They call it shadowplay. We only know what Neurosis and his assistants have passed on, and what some mecha knew before coming here. I didn't have a clue about this place before I ended up here. I was a minor government official—no one important."

"Shut up," Borealis growled. "No one cares about you and your stupid past."

Downtime shook his helm, then spoke softly. "Borealis is stage two right now, so you've got to forgive him."

"Stage two?" Wheeljack asked. "Would someone _please_ tell me what these stages you keep talking about are?"

"I can," Highnote said. "But—"

Zinc cut him off from across the room. "Don't scare him,"

"Don't _scare_ him?" Borealis scoffed.

"Not yet," Zinc said. "There'll be plenty of time for that later."

There was a moment of quiet.

"There you go, idiot," Borealis growled. "They slagging heard that."

"Sorry," Zinc said. "Oh, pit."

"What?" Wheeljack asked.

"You know what," Downtime said. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

Zinc took a shaky vent.

"Really, mech," Downtime said.

Zinc started sobbing quietly. Downtime sighed.

"You slagging idiot!" Borealis shouted at him. "You and that blasted femme _both_. Shut _up_! You're in fragging respite, you act like you're in stage four or something."

"Leave him alone," Wayfinder said.

"Yeah," Nanolight put in very quietly.

Wheeljack wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to know what was going on. At the same time. "You know, I'm already pretty scared. A little more won't make much of a difference."

"It would actually be kind of interesting, if it wasn't so… wrong," Highnote said.

The door opened and two guards came in. Everyone looked up at them.

"No," Zinc said. "Primus, I'm not ready, I'm not ready…"

But they hadn't come for Zinc. They stopped in front of Downtime's cell and opened it. Downtime took a deep vent and stood.

"Well," he said quietly. "Later, mechs."

"Shut up!" one of the guards said, and jabbed him with an energon prod. Downtime doubled over with a gasp, and they grabbed him and dragged him toward the stairs. He managed to get his footing by the time they were at the steps, and everyone watched him as the guards led him out of the room and the door shut behind them.

Nanolight whimpered.

Zinc started crying quietly again.

Scramble was still laughing.

Wheeljack looked at Downtime's empty cell, feeling sick. "What's going to happen to him?" he asked quietly.

Formulaic shot him a mild glare, but didn't answer.

"He'll come back, if that's what you're wondering about." Wayfinder said, and offered him another forced smile.

Wheeljack looked down. None of the others seemed to want to explain anything, but he had a _lot_ of questions. "Highnote, you were going to tell me about the… stages?"

"There are seven stages," Highnote said. "Seven stages makes one round. Once you've finished the stages, they give you a break, and then start over on stage one. Some mecha will only need a few rounds. Others will need more."

"Okay," Wheeljack said. "But… what are the stages?"

"Emotions," Highnote said. "They take your emotions away. I think… the theory behind it is that if they can reprogram your emotions, they don't need to reprogram your processor. They don't have to force you to do anything if you _want_ to."

Wheeljack stared at him. "But… how do you _program_ someone's emotions?"

"Just stop it," Zinc said. "You sound just like him."

"I don't!" Highnote said. "Just because I'm a medic… but frag, mech, I didn't realize… you've been so quiet… you should probably stop talking."

"Then _you_ stop talking,"

Wheeljack tried another question. "So… what happens when you're done?"

"We don't know," Highnote said. "Hopefully it's better than this."

"I doubt it," Formulaic muttered matter-of-factly. "When shadowplay is over, you're not a _person_ anymore. There's no such thing as better or worse, just…"

"Well, I'd like to think it'll be better," Highnote said. "You know, at least it's a way out of here. I'd hate to go more than four rounds."

Wheeljack glanced at Zinc, who was sitting in the corner of his cell with his arms wrapped around his knees, looking like a frightened sparkling.

Maybe more questions right now wasn't a good idea. Wheeljack sighed and leaned against the bars, feeling anxious and wishing he had something to do while he waited for them to bring Downtime back. Despite what everyone else had said, he was very worried about the mech. But the next time the door opened, the guards came in alone. They crossed the room and opened Wayfinder's cell. She sobbed quietly as they dragged her off.

A few breems later, Scramble finally stopped laughing.

"Good," Borealis muttered under his breath. "Glitch-helm."

Scramble chuckled. "Glitch-helm yourself," he said, then laughed again, for a good breem before choking and coughing and stopping again. "Primus, I feel all giddy. Who's the new mech? I wasn't paying attention."

"I'm Wheeljack," Wheeljack said, hesitantly glad that there was now someone else who seemed talkative. "And you're Scramble, right."

"Oh, so they told you my designation," the mech grinned. "How long have you been here?"

"Uh…" Wheeljack said. "A few joors."

"Primus," Scramble giggled again. "Joors. How long have I been out of it?"

"I don't know," Borealis grumbled. "But it's been annoying as pit."

"Sorry," Scramble said.

"Hey, Scram," Formulaic said quietly. "This new mech knows Shockwave."

Scramble stared through the bars of his cell at Wheeljack. He had golden optics and a half-crazed expression on his faceplate. "Shockwave."

"Yes," Wheeljack said. "Do you know him?"

"Knew him," Scramble said. "But how could _you_ know him?"

"I knew him before," Wheeljack said. "I actually… came looking for him."

Scramble seemed to think that was the most hilarious thing in the universe. He was laughing for nearly five breems, and by the time he stopped, Wheeljack didn't feel like talking to him anymore.

It was only a few breems after that when they brought Downtime back. Wheeljack watched nervously. The friendly mech didn't seem to be conscious as they dragged him down the stairs and threw him into the cell, then left again.

"Downtime?" Wheeljack asked when the guards had gone.

Downtime shifted, then pushed his way up into a sitting position.

"Here we go," Formulaic muttered.

"Again," Borealis grumbled. "Unless the fragger finally gave in."

"I thought…" Downtime said, looking down at his hands. "I thought I made it out," he said. "I thought… I thought I saw the sky again… what am I still doing here?"

Wheeljack watched nervously.

"I know I'll get out eventually," Downtime said, as a small smile worked its way onto his faceplate. "All of us will. We're all going to get out of here. I can't wait to watch the sunrise can you?"

"Shut up," Borealis said. "No one's getting out of here."

"You never know," Highnote added quietly.

"That's the spark," Downtime said. "Come on, you all look so glum." He smiled at Wheeljack. "Things will be fine, don't worry."

Wheeljack stared at him. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes," Downtime said. "I'm feeling okay… in fact, I don't think this is so bad… I thought I'd escaped, but I guess I haven't yet. Don't worry, we'll get there. Don't you want to see your friends again?"

"Yes," Wheeljack said.

But he had the feeling that wasn't going to happen.

"I want to see my femme," Downtime said. "They made me break my bond with her when they brought me here, but I can find her and fix everything. We have a little sparkling too. He's going to be a vorn and a half old soon. I hope they aren't too worried. I'll make it back to them, though, just watch. Who's waiting for you, Wheeljack, out there?"

Wheeljack looked down.

His friends and Perceptor might be worried about him if they realized he'd disappeared. But other than that, there was no one to miss him.

They brought Wayfinder back shortly afterward. She was still sobbing. When they left, they took Trueblade with them.

Downtime tried to cheer an inconsolable Wayfinder up for the next joor or so. No one else talked for a while, not even Borealis, until they brought Trueblade back and took him instead.

"I'm sorry!" Borealis said, struggling weakly as he was dragged away. "I'm so sorry…" He screamed as they used their energon prods to overpower him, and then shoved him roughly up the stairs and out of the room. Wayfinder was still sobbing when the door closed behind them, but Downtime had stopped talking about escaping, and was staring across the room at the empty cell opposite, looking content.

* * *

So it went for two orns. Each of them would be taken away, up to three at a time, and when they were brought back, they would be… different.

Except for Zinc and Formulaic. They, like Wheeljack, were left alone.

When Borealis had come back, he had been practically spitting fire, cursing and shouting and fighting the guards. They almost had to knock him out to get him back into his cell, and once he was there, he spent nearly a joor shouting insults at everyone before settling back into his former grumpiness. Highnote had said they took away your emotions. Wheeljack thought it seemed more like _giving_ you emotions.

Until one time when they brought Scramble back and he wasn't laughing.

They opened the door and shoved him down the stairs. He stumbled at the bottom, but got up and brushed himself off. Wheeljack looked around to see if the others were surprised that he wasn't screaming with maniacal laughter like he had been the last two times.

Downtime looked sad, which was unusual for him.

When the guards left, Scramble stood in his cell, looking vaguely confused.

"Scramble?" Downtime asked quietly. "Are you all right?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" Scramble asked quietly.

"No reason," Trueblade said, sounding as depressed as ever. "Not happy, are you?"

"Not particularly," Scramble said. "I don't see any reason to be happy down here, do you?"

"No," Trueblade said.

"Wheeljack," Formulaic said suddenly. He'd tried to talk to her, to ask her more about Shockwave, but she had ignored him for the most part.

"Yes?" Wheeljack said.

"Two things. First, you'd better hurry up with that bolt or you'll have trouble. They won't leave you alone much longer. Second, how long was Shockwave here? When did he disappear?"

"Uh…" Wheeljack said. "About a quarter of a vorn ago."

Silence fell, except for Nanolight's persistent whimpering.

"No," Formulaic frowned. "That's not possible. He was here when I showed up, and that was only… I don't know. Not _that_ long, though."

"Shockwave?" Scramble said. "He was here for a quarter. I remember when he disappeared. I used to keep track of that sort of thing. He didn't talk about how long he'd been here very much, but it was longer than most thought. I'm surprised Neurosis didn't give up on him and just have the poor mech killed."

Wheeljack looked down. He didn't want to imagine his best friend going through the things that these other mecha were going through.

He picked up the bolt from the corner of his cell. He needed to write _something._ Shockwave had made one last request to Primus. Wheeljack… didn't think he could be so eloquent. Primus grant that I die innocent? Wheeljack wasn't even sure what Shockwave had _meant_ by that, or why that had been so important.

Anger welled up inside of him. The Council had done this. They had forced Wheeljack into hiding, killed Searchlight, and sent Shockwave _here_. They destroyed everyone and everything that was good or noble or brave.

Wheeljack had no particular desire to die innocent, not if it meant he couldn't make them pay some orn.

He leaned forward and started scratching with the bolt on the wall.


	3. Fear

"What is it?" Downtime asked quietly, peering through the bars.

Wheeljack had finished his contribution a few joors ago, and was now sitting in a stupor of boredom. "Hmmm?"

"What did you write… or draw. You know, you should leave some space for the mecha after you."

"I left some space," Wheeljack had made sure not to take up the entire wall.

"What is it?'

"Schematics," Wheeljack said. "For a simple grenade. You wouldn't really need much to make one like this. You could use pieces of yourself for most of it, if you're willing to do that. You'd still need a few more items, but if you could sneak them out of the lab… not that I know what goes on up there. It's more a gesture of defiance than anything else."

Downtime nodded. "You worked at a bomb factory, right?"

Wheeljack nodded.

"For the government. Why? Didn't you say you went to school before that? Where did you go to school?"

"The Iacon Academy," Wheeljack said. "But I had to go into hiding because the government wanted me to make them weapons and I… didn't want to do that."

"Good mech," Downtime smiled, then sighed. "We're all good mecha down here. That's the one nice thing."

"One nice thing?" Formulaic said. "Right. Because it's really nice to watch good mecha around you deteriorate into nothing. That's really nice."

"Come on, Form," Downtime said. "You know you'd rather be stuck down here with us than stuck with a bunch of murderers or something."

Formulaic scoffed. "Just don't talk to me until you're on some stage that's less depressing."

Wheeljack had picked up a little bit about the stages in the time he'd been there, though they didn't like to talk about it. They all preferred to bicker quietly to keep the boredom at bay, or tell stories about what their lives were like before this. Wheeljack had to admit that Downtime was right, though. They were good mecha.

A few joors after that, the door opened and the guards came down the stairs. Wheeljack expected them to take Borealis, who had actually gotten to a point where he was almost civil.

But they didn't. They stopped in front of Wheeljack's cell instead. The others all looked up from what they were doing and everything went very quiet while the guards unlocked the cell.

"Good luck," Downtime whispered.

Wheeljack stood as the door opened, trembling. The guards came in and roughly dragged him out of the cell. He didn't speak, but held his helm up high, like Downtime and Trueblade always did.

They marched him up the stairs and down a hall. Wheeljack could feel his spark pulsing as if it was trying to escape his spark chamber, and he could barely control his frantic venting. He didn't want this to be happening. The first stage was the one Nanolight was in.

They brought him to a similar room to the room they had taken him to when he'd first gotten there, with a berth and medical equipment lining the walls.

Wheeljack couldn't help struggling a little when they tried to restrain him on the berth, but he stopped when one of them jabbed him in the faceplate with an energon prod.

Then he lay, terrified, waiting.

In less than a breem, Neurosis came in with another mech—an assistant or something.

"Ah," Neurosis said. "Here we are. Our newest patient. Wheeljack, was it?"

Wheeljack didn't answer.

"How are you getting along with the others? A bit of a mess, aren't they? Don't worry. They straighten themselves out at the end of every round. Now, I'm sure they've explained a little about what we're trying to do here, but allow me to elaborate, if I may."

Wheeljack shuttered his optics. Horrible fascination warred with terror. He didn't say anything.

"We sometimes joke about reprogramming each other," Neurosis said. "About re-writing each others' processors or personalities so that we can change one another. But no one actually ever does it. Do you know why that is?"

He waited. Wheeljack did know. "Well…" he said at length, because his fear was abating just a little now that they were talking and nothing terrible was happening to him. "Isn't it because your self-repair systems fight off viruses and other reprogramming attempts, especially ones that target your processor?"

"Yes," Neurosis said. "But what happens if you turn off your self-repair systems, and then reprogram your processor."

"Uh…" Wheeljack said. "I don't know."

"It fixes itself just the same. Not as quickly, but just as completely. It has something to do with spark energy. Did you know that a copy of your memories is stored in your spark? It's what makes us different from other machines, from a scientific standpoint. Our sparks make us resistant to reprogramming and viruses. Protoform doesn't have a personality. It's the spark that gives it one.

"So you see the problem with any sort of reprogramming. Because any reprogramming we do has to go as deep as the spark."

Wheeljack shuddered.

"Yes," Neurosis said. "Unfortunately, as you have found in your research, Wheeljack, spark energy is not very stable or easy to utilize. We do not really know how to program a spark. Shadowplay is an attempt to work around that. Long ago, the quintessons came to take our world over, but their attempts at reprogramming, while more effective than most things we can do to each other, ultimately failed. What we do here goes deeper. It teaches you to reprogram yourself, and as far as we've been able to test, it is permanent.

"The ultimate goal of shadowplay is, naturally, to make slaves of the lower classes, but that's not really what I care about. I just love to watch things change, to _make_ them change.

"We have been successful several times, and are now working to perfect our best program. There are flaws in it, of course, but we're ironing them out as we go. The idea is to completely change a Cybertronian's personality, goals, and loyalties to match what the Council wants. In order to do that, the first step is, of course, to remove their original personality. What do you think defines someone's personality, Wheeljack?"

"I… I don't know," Wheeljack said quietly, wishing he was anywhere but here.

"Is it the choices they make, or the way they were raised? What is a personality?"

"I don't know."

"From our experience, the most important aspect seems to be emotion. Emotions, you see, come from the spark, and are interpreted by your emotional core, which forwards them to your processor. We make decisions based on our emotions.

"So what shadowplay does, Wheeljack, is teach you how to let go of your emotions—to sever the tie between your core and your spark. We'll reprogram your core while stimulating whatever emotion we want to be rid of, break the connection, and repeat the process until your spark itself learns to break off the connection."

Wheeljack's spark was pounding.

"Once you have broken all of the necessary bonds between your spark and your core, you will be free of the burden of caring. You will see things more clearly, and be able to focus on tasks more easily.

"Of course that's only the first part. Once you have no emotional ties, we can build you back however we want. We can make you loyal to the Council. We can make you thank us from the bottom of your spark, for what we've done to you. All of the mecha we have successfully completed the procedure on—every last one—has expressed profound gratitude for it."

"No," Wheeljack said. "That's…"

"It's fascinating," Neurosis said. "I would almost want to try it on myself—if I wasn't too busy trying it on other mecha."

Wheeljack shuddered again.

"So," Neurosis said. "Let us begin. The first thing you will give us is your fear. We have found this to be the necessary beginning step. Fear holds you down and separates you from your potential. We will show it to you, until you see that you no longer want it tethering you and controlling you."

Neurosis's assistant opened a cabinet.

"Please," Wheeljack said. "Don't…"

Neurosis smiled and shook his helm. "Don't what? Do this? This is my job, Wheeljack. The Council lets me work because I am willing to do this sort of thing for them. Maybe if you were too, you would be assisting me instead of lying on that berth. No doubt your spark energy research would be very helpful to us."

Wheeljack shook his helm. "I'm not helping you."

"See?" Neurosis said, then crossed the room and magnetized Wheeljack to the berth so he couldn't move. "You're doing this to yourself."

Wheeljack shuttered his optics as he felt a port on his neck manually accessed and a pain chip slipped into it. Then he felt, distantly, that his helm was being opened up to expose his processor.

"Give me the delta-eight," Neurosis muttered. "Don't want him falling asleep on us."

It didn't hurt, but Wheeljack could still feel it as Neurosis injected something into his arm, and then started attaching things to the inside of his helm. His processor screamed warnings at him about foreign programs and viruses, but there was nothing he could do.

"All right," he heard Neurosis say. "Let's begin. Here, Wheeljack, is your fear."

It hit like a wall. Pure terror, with no reason, no explanation. Wheeljack screamed, because it was ten times worse than physical pain.

Then suddenly, it was gone, replaced only by numbness.

It rose again, a wave of horror, blinding him, forcing him to struggle against the berth, to scream, because… because.

Nothing. Numbness.

Then the terror rose again. This time, Wheeljack's processor attached reasons to it. Being captured, watching his friends die, watching his inventions used to kill innocent mecha, Unicron, and the dark vastness of the space between galaxies. Pain, horror, abandonment, betrayal. Shockwave standing over him, looking down at him without knowing who he was.

Numbness.

One of his inventions blowing up his lab, getting expelled, the government hunting him down and forcing him to work for them, Perceptor lying to him, not being able to trust anyone.

Numbness.

Flying symbiots, scraplets. Hundreds and hundreds of scraplets eating him alive.

Numbness

Terror

Numbness

Terror

Numbness

Terror

* * *

Wheeljack hit the cold floor and lay there, trembling. The guards laughed, a horrible, eerie sound, and walked away. The sound of their footsteps was like gunshots, and the creak of the door meant something was coming for him—coming to rip him to pieces slowly, and drink his energon.

They were gone, but he knew they were still there, watching him.

"Wheeljack?"

Who was that? How did they know his designation? Wheeljack covered his helm with his arms, whimpering.

"It's okay. It's always worst the first time through. You're doing really, good, just hang in there and it will fade."

What would fade? They wanted to kill him. They wanted to see his energon spilled out on the floor.

"Here," the voice said. "Take my hand through the bars, it might help."

Wheeljack backed to the farthest corner of the cell, shaking so hard his arms kept hitting the bars, making a clanging, clamoring sound like vermin eating through the walls.

"You're not helping," another voice said.

"Sorry. Hang in there, Wheeljack."

A wave of terror washed over him, and Wheeljack screamed, thrashing against invisible enemies, fighting off the red-opticed creatures that wanted to rip him to pieces, until he was so exhausted he could only curl up on the floor and whimper and wait until they came for him, wishing for the end, because at least then he wouldn't have to fear it.

Slowly, bit by bit, the terror retreated, but never really left. Wheeljack quieted, then slipped into a recharge filled with nightmares.

When he woke, he checked his internal timepiece out of habit and found that it said it was four orns ago, and the middle of the off-cycle. For an instant he panicked. He wasn't even sure why he was panicking. He knew, distantly, that there were others around him, talking to him, trying to comfort him, but he could feel nothing but blinding panic and hear nothing, but the sound of his own screaming.

Eventually, Wheeljack calmed down a little and sat up, shaking, embarrassed to have been making so much noise, but almost too frightened to care.

"Wheeljack?" Downtime asked.

Wheeljack backed away from him. "What's going on?" he demanded.

"Can you remember?" Downtime asked.

Wheeljack shook his helm, then nodded. "I remember."

"Okay," Downtime said. "Don't worry. You're going to be all right, I promise you. Come here."

Wheeljack didn't want to go anywhere near Downtime.

"I keep telling you you're making it worse," Formulaic said.

Wheeljack wrapped his arms around himself and sobbed. "I'm scared," he said.

"I know," Downtime said. "But it's going to get better."

"It's not going to get better," Formulaic deadpanned. "No matter how many times you say that you slagging liar, it's not going to get any better at all."

Nanolight let out a trembling wail, that sent a spike of increased terror down Wheeljack's spine. He whimpered, and started rocking back and forth, sure that… something horrible was about to happen.

The feeling faded a little, until the guards came back. Wheeljack was so certain they were here for him that he curled up in the back of his cell and nearly decided to just shut himself down.

But they didn't stop at his cell door this time. They stopped in front of Zinc's.

"No!" Zinc screamed. "No, please! Help! Help!"

"Shut up!" Borealis shouted, as Zinc continued to scream for help. The guards dragged him out, and practically knocked him out with their energon prods before dragging him away, up the stairs, and out the door.

"Pit," Borealis said. "Now we've got three idiots going through phase one. That's just perfect. Between them all, our audios will burn out."

"That would be interesting," Scramble said. "Do you think we should try it? Let's all try screaming and see if it blows out our audios."

"No," Borealis said.

Scramble screamed.

"Shut up!" Borealis screamed. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

"Stop it both of you," Trueblade muttered, but neither of them did, until Scramble got tired of screaming. Wheeljack relaxed a little when that happened, because the screaming had made him very nervous.

He did feel a little better now. Still jumpy, but not quite as terrified.

Unless he thought about what had happened to him the last time they'd taken him away, and realized that it was going to happen again. And again.

Until he couldn't feel fear anymore.

And that, for some reason, the inability to be afraid, was one of the most frightening things he could think of.

They took Borealis away before they brought Zinc back.

When they did bring Zinc back, he was a sobbing, whimpering mess, and Wheeljack dreaded Borealis returning, because he knew it would be horrible.

Inevitably, they brought him back. But for the first time, Borealis wasn't spitting curses. He went quietly into his cell and stood there, looking a little disoriented. Wheeljack found himself slightly relieved. He realized that Borealis wasn't really an angry sort of person. It had just been the shadowplay.

"Downtime," Wheeljack asked.

"Yeah, mech?" Downtime said.

"What stage is anger?"

"Two," Downtime answered. "How are you doing?"

"A little better," Wheeljack said.

Downtime nodded. "It's slightly better if you don't ever say that out loud. We ask because we care, and it's habit, but as soon as you're doing better, they take you back again. And after a full round, you'll get a break until your emotions fix themselves. Once you let it show that you're back to… well closer to normal, they'll start you over again. That was what Zinc was afraid of. He's just finished one round."

"How many has Formulaic done?" Wheeljack asked quietly.

"I can hear you," Formulaic said. "I've done three."

Wheeljack looked down. He didn't think he could stand one more session, never mind a whole stage, or a whole round. Three?

As if thinking along the same lines, Formulaic kept talking. "Some mecha take longer," she said. "Some are done after three rounds. It takes five or six for the stubborn ones. A few take even longer, but most of those ones offline at some point. The procedure isn't perfect…"

Wheeljack shuttered his optics, trying not to let the terror take him again.

"Your friend," Formulaic said softly. "Shockwave… I don't know how many rounds he did. More than ten, that's for certain. He was… we all thought he'd keep going forever, that he couldn't be broken. It gave the rest of us hope."

Wheeljack's vents hitched.

"We thought maybe he was indestructible, that Primus was helping him, that his last wish was going to be fulfilled…" An edge of bitterness crept into her usually monotone voice. "But then he finished a round and never came back out of respite. He was gone…"

Wheeljack wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked back and forth. He didn't want to hear this story.

"And they took him away like they take them all away after they're done. We don't know what happens to them after that."

"Form?" Scramble said. "Are you all right? Do you want to try something? Let's try something to make you feel better. How about… we could play a game. Anyone want to play a game?"

"Shut up," Formulaic said. "Shut up, shut up, _shut up_ you're going to leave too. This is your last round, I know it is. You're all going to leave,"

The guards came in, and everyone froze.

They stopped in front of Wheeljack's door. Wheeljack forced himself to stand up, fighting the terror that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew it was nothing to the terror that was coming.

* * *

Wheeljack was trapped in a nightmare. Shockwave was controlling an army of scraplets, watching them eat at Wheeljack. Every time he was almost gone, Shockwave stopped them, then healed Wheeljack and started the process over again.

He gasped and sat up and the dream faded into the darkness. You couldn't tell what time of the orn it was, not with everyone's internal clocks slagged up, so they all just recharged whenever they felt like it. Often they decided to do it together, just because it made it easier.

They were recharging right now. Except for Downtime. He was gone.

He was on stage three, which was hope. He was probably nearing the end of it, which was too bad, because hope was supposedly one of the saner stages. After hope came sadness, which was what Wayfinder and Trueblade were on.

Borealis had moved on to hope. He was a completely different mech like this—though not the same as Downtime or Highnote. He kept apologizing to everyone for offending them during the anger stage.

"Hello?" Wheeljack said, suddenly afraid that he was alone. No one answered.

"Hello? Hello, anyone?"

"Quiet," Trueblade said softly.

Wheeljack whimpered. "I'm sorry. I just thought everyone was gone."

"We're here," Trueblade whispered. "Keep it down, everyone's trying to recharge."

Wheeljack met Trueblade's optics across the room. He was calmer than the others, in a lot of ways. He was on sadness, like Wayfinder, but Wheeljack had never heard him cry. He left looking dull and lifeless and came back even more so. He didn't talk very much, but he always seemed to be listening.

There was something wrong about him. Maybe he was a spy, not really a patient. Maybe he was down here to spy on the rest of them, and turn them in if…

That didn't make any sense. Wheeljack didn't even know what he was thinking half the time. Paranoia ruled his thoughts now. He was losing it. He was going insane. A shiver of fear ran up and down him and he whimpered again.

"The first stage is the hardest," Trueblade said.

That wasn't entirely comforting. But Wheeljack bit down on his lip plates and kept quiet. He owed it to the others. As little as he trusted them, they _had_ been kind to him after a fashion.

"You know," Trueblade said. "As hopeless as it is, maybe I agree with your friend after all. May Primus grant that I die innocent… I'd rather die down here than finish this, wouldn't you?"

Wheeljack shook his helm. He did not want to die.

"I guess you're in stage one," Trueblade said softly. "You still want to live."

"How…" Wheeljack whispered. "How many rounds have you done?"

"Two," Trueblade said glumly. "I'm on my third. I've been here a while though… I have a hard time with this stage… last time I swear it took two quartexes, just for stage four. I was depressed a lot before… before the institute."

"What are we talking about?" Borealis's voice asked and he came over to the bars of his cage.

"You're going to have trouble with stage six," Trueblade said. "You're a scientist. They have trouble with stage six, I think."

"Which one is that."

"The one Scramble is on," Trueblade said. "Curiosity."

"Did somemech say my designation?" Scramble asked. "What is everyone talking about. I thought we were recharging. Why have we stopped?"

Formulaic moaned. "Everyone slagging go back to slagging recharge, would you?" she grumbled.

"Did you say stage one is the worst?" Borealis asked. "Trueblade?"

"Yeah," Trueblade said quietly.

"I don't think so," Borealis said. "Stage seven is the worst."

"Stage four," Wayfinder said.

Nanolight whimpered.

"Hey, Nano, are you okay?" Borealis asked. "Are you scared? Don't be scared."

"Leave me alone," Nanolight whispered. "Please, please just leave me alone."

"I'm sorry," Borealis said. "I'm so sorry. Don't worry, we'll get out of here. I think things have to get better after this. It's not like they can get any worse."

"Oh, please don't say that," Wayfinder whispered.

"Why not?" Highnote said.

"You know what would be interesting?" Scramble mused. "If we were all on the same stage at once."

"No, that would be awful," Formulaic said. "Imagine if we were all on stage one."

"Or two." Wayfinder said.

Trueblade had retreated to the back of his cell, dropping out of the conversation. It reminded Wheeljack a little bit of Soundwave. And Shockwave had been shy too.

Shockwave had needed to overcome that to become a senator. Wheeljack had been so proud of him. Everyone had been proud of him.

"But what if we were all on stage three together?" Scramble said. "Or stage five. Wouldn't that be interesting?"

"Ugh," Formulaic said.

"What are the stages?" Nanolight whispered. "What are they in order? I don't know. I don't want to know, don't tell me, don't say it, I don't want to be here, someone help me, please, please…"

Zinc woke up with a scream, and Nanolight answered in kind. Wheeljack curled up, forcing himself not to make a sound. If he didn't make a sound, no one would find him. No one would be able to hurt him if he stayed silent. He told himself that—promised himself that—so he could avoid bothering the other mecha around him.

"The stages in order," Scramble said. "I wonder what would happen if they mixed them up. Have they tried that, do you think? Maybe I should suggest it to Neurosis next time I see him. I'm kind of looking forward to it. It's different every time, you know. I really want to go to Luna 1 right now. If we get out of here, will someone go to Luna 1 with me?"

"I will," Highnote promised.

"What _are_ the stages in order?" Wheeljack asked.

"Fear," Borealis said. "Then anger, then hope, then sadness, then happiness, then curiosity… then love. Was that all of them?"

"There are seven," Highnote said.

Wayfinder sobbed quietly.

"Yes, that was all of them," Borealis said. "Right, Scramble?"

"Was that seven?" Scramble asked. "Wouldn't it be interesting if you could get a different number by counting backwards? I wonder what will happen when you're on stage six, Wheeljack. I remember when Shockwave was. He would always start spouting random scientific terms and none of the rest of us could understand what he was talking about. Do you think you'll do that too? He had problems with stage six."

"I don't know." Wheeljack didn't want to think that far ahead. It was frightening. Was he really going to be stuck here until there was nothing left of him? The thought made him want to scream.

"Shut up!" Zinc screamed. "Help! Someone help me! Anyone!"

"Zinc, mech," Borealis reached through the bars of his cage, to the next one over, where Zinc was. Zinc screamed again, but crossed the cage and grabbed Borealis's arm, "Help, help me, please, please get me out of here."

"Don't worry," Borealis said. "We'll get out of here, mech. I'll help get you out."

"Why does stage three make a liar of everyone?' Formulaic grouched. "You can't get out of here."

"Shhh," Borealis said. "Ow, mech, you can't pull me through the bars, I don't fit, okay?"

Zinc clutched at Borealis's arm, sobbing and whimpering. "They'll come for me again," he said. "They'll come for me again and again and again until I'm dead. I don't want to die. I don't want to die, I'm barely more than a fledgling. I didn't mean to find out about this place. I didn't mean to, I swear, I'll never tell anyone if you let me out, I promise."

"I have a great idea," Formulaic said.

"Really?" Scramble asked. "Is it going to be fun? What kind of idea?"

"Let's all go back to recharge," Formulaic said. "And stop talking."

"We're never getting out of here," Wayfinder wailed.

Zinc screamed again.

"Oh, all of you just shut up," Formulaic said. "You make me sick."

"Would you rather we disappeared?" Scramble asked. "Everyone, let's try disappearing. I wonder if Formulaic will like it or not. Maybe if we don't talk for long enough, she'll think we're really gone. You never know with mecha down here. Our processors are really messed up."

"I hadn't noticed," Formulaic grumbled.

Everyone quieted after that. Wheeljack was nearly in recharge again when the guards came in, supporting Downtime between them. They brought the other mech over to his cell and dropped him in, then turned and left again. Wheeljack just curled up, hoping they weren't here for him. apparently, they weren't. Maybe it really was the off-cycle, and Neurosis was taking some time off to recharge.

"Downtime!" someone gasped.

Wheeljack's helm snapped up, and he looked over to the next cell. Downtime was kneeling, staring at the ground where a small puddle of energon was gathering.

"Downtime?" Formulaic said.

A drop of energon fell from Downtme's faceplate to join the rest on the ground.

"Is he all right?" Highnote asked.

Downtime didn't move.

"Downtime," Wheeljack crawled closer to him. Panic rose from somewhere deep within him. "Downtime, you're leaking. What's going on? Are you hurt? Why are you leaking?"

Downtime didn't answer, just stared at the puddle of energon. It was like he wasn't there.

"No," Wayfinder said. "He's gone, he's gone, he's not supposed to be like this, he's only in his second round."

"He's still online," Highnote said. "He's going to be ok. Downtime? Downtime, talk to us."

"What happened, I wonder," Scramble said, sounding interested. "Is his helm cracked open, or is it internal bleeding? I bet it's internal. That happens sometimes. I remember there was this one mech…"

"Shut up," Formulaic snapped, then buried her faceplate in her arms.

Was he offlining? Wheeljack didn't even want to imagine that. Downtime was the one who'd explained things to him in the beginning, who'd tried to comfort him when he was scared.

Now his processor was leaking, dripping on the ground.

Everyone begged him to speak to them, but he didn't. Zinc screamed at him, Wayfinder cried. Trueblade just watched with hopelessness on his faceplate. Borealis and Highnote tried to encourage everyone and insist that Downtime was all right. Scramble offered several ideas about how to get Downtime to talk, or what might have happened to him.

The puddle on the ground grew, even as the dripping slowed and came to a stop. Downtime stared at the ground.

Wheeljack wanted to look away, but he was terrified that if he did, he would look back to see Downtime dead. So he watched, even as he started to feel like recharging again. He didn't look away when they came for Trueblade, or later when they came for Nanolight.

Then, suddenly, Downtime shuttered his optics and leaned forward. Frightened, Wheeljack reached through the bars. "Downtime," he whispered.

Slowly, Downtime un-shuttered his optics and looked up. A single drop of energon flowed down from the top of his faceplate to the bottom.

"Downtime?" Wheeljack pulled his hand back. "Downtime? Can you hear me?"

The others all watched, in silence.

"Downtime?"

"Yes," Downtime said. "I can… I can hear you… Wheeljack?"

Wheeljack let out a shaking ex-vent. "Are you all right? You scared us."

"I… my helm hurts," Downtime's faceplate twisted into a grimace. "My helm hurts," he said again.

"Just hold still," Highnote said. "Give it some time, and you'll feel better. Don't move around or you could complicate the problem… whatever the problem is."

Downtime let out a low whine, and another drop of energon hit the ground.

"He's dying," Wayfinder moaned. "He's dying, what do we do?"

"Calm down," Borealis said. "He's not necessarily going to offline."

"I don't think…" Downtime said. "I don't think I'm ever getting out of here. I was so sure I was, but… now…"

"I think he's passed stage three," Scramble noted. "See how he's suddenly all hopeless?"

Downtime shuttered his optics and groaned, putting a hand to his faceplate. Energon dribbled from his open lip plates.

"No," Wheeljack gasped, reaching through the bars again. "Hold on, Downtime, hold on. Hightnote said you're going to be all right, hold on."

Downtime hunched over until his faceplate was resting in the puddle of energon. He gasped and choked on a mouthful of it.

"Don't," Wheeljack reached for him through the bars, but he was too far away. "Downtime, come closer. Your vents will clog if you lie down in a pool of energon. Come on, move this way."

Downtime moaned again and didn't move.

"Help," Wheeljack whispered. "Help, please help… someone… Neurosis, are you listening? He's dying, he's _dying_ you have to do something. Please, help…"

"Shut up," Formulaic said. "Don't beg that glitch for anything. If Downtime offlines, then that's a better fate than some of us face." She choked on her own words. Wayfinder was sobbing softly, and even Highnote and Borealis seemed sad.

"He's in pain," Wheeljack whispered.

Formulaic huffed and looked away. Downtime moaned again.

"Shhh," Wheeljack hissed. "Downtime, can you still hear me?"

Downtime didn't answer.

Instead, he slumped forward completely, optics shuttered and faceplate set in a grimace.

"No," Wheeljack said. "No, Downtime, please don't offline, please."

"We're lucky," Highnote said. "No ones's on seven."

"I'm almost," Scramble said. "I think… What happens if someone's on seven?"

"Just hope no one offlines while you are," Borealis said. "Oh, Primus, I'm sorry, Wheeljack. Are you going to be all right? He was the one to look after you for the first few orns, wasn't he?"

Wheeljack was trembling. "He's going to offline, isn't he?"

"No way to tell," Highnote said. "Don't give up yet."

"You're just saying that," Wheeljack muttered. "Because you're on phase three."

"Downtime's offlining," Zinc sobbed. "He's offlining. The rest of us are next. They're going to kill us—all of us."

Downtime lay still, faceplate resting in a pool of his own energon.

Wheeljack leaned on the bars of the cell and shuttered his optics, letting himself slip into recharge—back into nightmares.

Wheeljack awoke to screaming. Nanolight again, just back from a session with Neurosis. The guards deposited him in his cell, then came for Wheeljack.

Downtime was still lying facedown in a pool of his own energon. Wheeljack didn't want to leave him like that, but it wasn't as if he had a choice.

They took him to one of the labs. He didn't struggle as they strapped him down to the berth, waiting.

"Good orn," Neurosis said when he came in. "How have you been, Wheeljack?"

"Downtime's hurt," Wheeljack said. "Aren't you going to do anything about it?"

"We very nearly lost him," Neurosis said. "There's nothing we can do though."

"He was leaking," Wheeljack said. "From his helm."

"Yes," Neurosis said. "If it doesn't stop then he's going to offline. But sometimes that happens. Shadowplay can put unusual stresses on you, especially when you're nearing the end of a stage. Now," He magnetized Wheeljack to the berth and stuck a pain chip in. Wheeljack never remembered him taking it out. By then he was usually delirious with fear and exhaustion.

This time, as always, the session seemed to go on forever, and Wheeljack's voice box grew hoarse and staticky from screaming. The alternating terror and numbness was worse than just plain terror.

By the time they were finished, he couldn't think. He could barely feel or see or hear, or care about anything but that crippling fear. They dragged him down to the room where the others were and threw him in his cell where he lay, trembling, until the fear retreated.

When he finally looked up, he saw that Downtime was sitting. The other mech was watching him with a blank, bleak expression. Dried energon coated his faceplate, and one of his optics. He didn't seem to care though.

"Downtime," Wheeljack said. "Are you all right?'

Downtime shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "My helm still hurts… but I don't really care. It doesn't matter in the long run, does it? We're never getting out of here."

Wheeljack vented a shaky sigh of relief, then lapsed into fear again. That had been close, too close. Could that happen to him? Could he end up staring vacantly at the floor while his energon bled out and dripped from his forehead and lip plates?

Was Downtime really all right?

Of course not. No one was all right down here. Zinc was right, they were all going to die. Wheeljack backed away from the other mech like he was contagious.

Downtime actually seemed to recover, to everyone's relief… well, to some of their relief. Scramble didn't seem to care much, and Zinc was too busy worrying about himself and whether _he_ was going to survive.

But you couldn't blame them. Not really.

Wheeljack lived in perpetual fear. His processor found reasons for the fear, but they were usually reasons that didn't make sense

Nanolight came back one orn and sat quietly in his cell, until Highnote prodded him. "Hey, mech, you doing okay?"

"I'm not afraid anymore," Nanolight said by way of answer. "I'm just… not afraid."

Wheeljack started to anticipate that orn.

It came eventually. In a session with Neurosis full of the usual terror and numbness. Wheeljack screamed, then was silent, screamed then was silent, screamed then was silent.

And didn't scream again. Because the fear didn't come back. He wondered for a moment whether Neurosis had stopped simulating the fear, then realized that that never changed anything—he was always afraid afterward.

"Hmmm," he heard the medic said. "Well, it looks as if we've finally broken through to you. In good time as well. You're not going to be difficult at all, are you, Wheeljack?"

Difficult? No, Wheeljack wasn't going to be difficult. He felt a vague sense that something was wrong, but couldn't bring himself to care enough about it to wonder what it was.

The guards took him back down to everyone else. He wondered why he'd worried so much about Downtime. Downtime seemed all right.

"Wheeljack?" the other mech asked, one the guards were gone.

"I'm all right," Wheeljack assured him. "The fear is gone. I'm not sure… where it went, but it's gone."

He met Downtime's optics and was confused at the sorrow he saw in them. There was nothing to be sad about, was there?

At least, there was nothing to be afraid about, and that was good enough for Wheeljack.


	4. Anger

They left Wheeljack alone for an orn or two. The lack of fear was strange, but not entirely unpleasant. Wheeljack knew he ought to be frightened, but he wasn't. A little sad, maybe. And sad because Downtime was sad now. He came back after every session looking like he had just lost everything he had ever cared about. He didn't talk as much either. Wheeljack tried to cheer him up as best he could, but it was difficult, and sometimes he wondered if Downtime would rather be left alone.

Nanolight was taken away and came back growling like a wild symbiot. He didn't shout curses like Borealis had, but he obviously didn't want anyone to talk to him. He hissed and screeched whenever anyone else made too much noise, which terrified Zinc to no end. Wheeljack felt rather bored with the whole thing.

Then they came for him too.

"Well," Neurosis said, once Wheeljack was completely immobilized on the berth. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know," Wheeljack said. "You're going to hurt me, aren't you?"

"Hurt you? What exactly do you mean by hurt you? Yes, the process damages your processor, but it won't hurt. That's what the pain chip is for."

"Emotions hurt," Wheeljack said. "Did you know that?"

"I suppose," Neurosis said. "That's why you're going to give them to us. And then nothing will be able to hurt you."

"Except for physical pain," Wheeljack pointed out.

"No," Neurosis said. "You'll find that without emotions, physical pain does very little. It's just another perk of the whole process. Shall we get started? Now that you are no longer afraid, you will give us your anger. Anger is power, but it is a weak, chaotic power, and when you realize that, you will find it undesirable. It will not be difficult to give it up."

Wheeljack shuttered his optics and waited for the pain chip, and then the uncomfortable, violated feeling of having the back of his helm opened up and his processor hooked up to Neurosis' equipment.

But though it was uncomfortable, he didn't feel crippled. There was no fear, so Wheeljack didn't particularly care that this was happening.

Then Neurosis signaled his assistant to start.

Suddenly, rage welled up inside of him. Wheeljack shouted and struggled. How _dare_ they do this to him? How _dare_ they take away his fear? How dare they hook him up to that stupid machine and try to erase his personality…

Numbness.

Wheeljack shouted again when the rage came back. He wanted to kill them. He wanted to rip them to pieces for this… this injustice.

Numbness.

Wheeljack's vents heaved and his spark pulsed heavily, pounding away in his spark chamber until it hurt. He shouted at them, wordlessly promising them a painful end, promising that their energon would be spilled on the ground, that he'd break out of his cell and rip their helms off.

Numbness. Wheeljack gasped, clinging to the respite before the anger overtook him, drowning him. He had thought that fear would be harder by far than anything else, but this was just as bad in its own way.

The rage picked him up and shook him, tore out his logic circuits and sent him into fits of blind thrashing and shouting. He was overheating by the end of the session, and when they took him back down to the cells, he ached all over. The harsh grip of the guards made him angry, and so he fought them, despite the energon prods. More and more pain. Neurosis had lied to him. Wheeljack _had_ been hurt, and not just by the emotions.

He wanted to kill them all. Neurosis for hurting him and Perceptor for lying to him about Shockwave, and Shockwave for giving up before Wheeljack came to rescue him, and himself for abandoning his best friend to this fate.

He barely noticed when the guards left.

"Wheeljack?" Downtime asked quietly. "Are you all right?"

"What do you care?" Wheeljack snapped. "You don't care about anything. None of you do. Don't pretend like you actually want to know if I'm all right."

Downtime looked hurt, which irritated Wheeljack even more. "What?" Wheeljack demanded. "Don't look at me like that you slagging excuse for a drone. I know you only care about yourself."

"Hey!" Formulaic said. "Shut up, Wheeljack. Leave him alone."

"Leave _him_ alone?" Wheeljack demanded. "Why don't you leave _me_ alone. You're so insistent that everyone else stay out of your faceplate, don't you dare get in mine, you hypocrite."

Formulaic glared at him and he glared right back. She was in respite. What did she have to complain about? Wheeljack had just been tortured, _tortured._ He ached all over, and no one cared, did they? They were all too busy feeling sorry for themselves.

"Ooohhh," Scramble said. "Wheeljack in second phase is really different, don't you think? He was so nice before. It's not as weird as Downtime in second phase, though. Hey, Form, do you remember Shockwave in second phase? That was just plain creepy."

"Shut up!" Wheeljack said. "Don't talk about Shockwave. He abandoned me. He left me to go play politics, and look where it landed him, stubborn, selfish moron."

"How _dare_ you," Formulaic said.

"How dare _you_!" Wheeljack snapped back at her. "You don't even know him. You never knew him at all, don't start acting like you care about anything, you sparkless glitch. I'm surprised you're still here, and that you haven't moved on like the others do when they're completely emotionless."

"Wheeljack," Highnote said. "Come on, mech, lighten up a little. Form's having just as hard a time as the rest of us."

"No she's not, she's in respite," Wheeljack said. "And she has been for slagging ages, hasn't she? It's because she's done. It's because she doesn't have to go through another round. She's nothing but a monster anymore."

At that, Zinc whimpered. Wheeljack laughed at him. There was nothing to be scared of—it wasn't like Formulaic could come through the bars and attack him or anything like that. Zinc, hearing Wheeljack's laughter, started to cry quietly, and Wheeljack laughed harder, more bitterly, until Zinc's fear annoyed him more than it amused him, and he snapped at the other mech to shut up and stop sniveling.

The others watched him, which was disturbing and annoying, so whenever he caught them looking at him, he lashed out, trying to turn them away. He didn't want their company or their fake worry right now. He didn't mind seeing them in pain, though.

They took Downtime away, then Scramble. By the time they brought Downtime back, Wheeljack was feeling a little more like himself, and was ashamed of everything he had said. Downtime curled up in his cell, crying softly, and muttering to himself about his femme, and their sparkling, mourning the fact that he'd never see them again.

It was annoying, but Wheeljack kept his lip plates shut, because he was even more annoyed at himself than he was at Downtime, and because he knew if he spoke, he'd just say something that would hurt the other mech's feelings.

He was a horrible, selfish coward, and that made him so angry at himself...

They eventually took him away again. This time, when they brought him back, he was in such a blind rage he couldn't even speak. He screamed violence without words at the guards and when they locked him in his cell, he banged on the bars, still shouting at them until they were gone.

"Wheeljack," Borealis said. "Calm down, you'll hurt yourself."

That was a good idea. Wheeljack screamed harder and threw himself at the bars, willing himself dead. He hated everything, hated this place, and all of the other occupants of this room, and Neurosis and the guards, and this cell, and especially himself. The others shouted at him, desperately begging him to calm down, until the mesh on his arms was dented and shattered and dripping energon. It wasn't until the pain made him dizzy and sick that he stopped.

He retreated to the back of his cell, angry at all of them for shouting at him, and angry that the only thing he'd accomplished was to hurt himself. He held his arms close, watching them drip energon onto the ground.

"Wheeljack?" Downtime asked quietly, after they'd ignored him for a while. "Are you…"

"I'm not alright!" Wheeljack shouted at him. "Don't ask me if I'm all right, I'm not! I'm NOT ALRIGHT!"

"Okay," Downtime said, choking on a sob. "I'm sorry. I'm useless."

"That's the truth," Wheeljack growled. "Now leave me alone!"

Downtime curled up around himself and wept. Wayfinder joined him. Scramble suggested they play a game, and Highnote suggested they come up with an escape plan.

Wheeljack wanted to kill himself, but he knew if he tried, they would stop him. So he sat, trying to ignore everyone else, ashamed of making Downtime feel worse, and angry at himself for feeling ashamed, and angry at Downtime for being so easily upset, even though Wheeljack knew it wasn't his fault.

The next time the guards came, they came for Formulaic. She didn't say a word or struggle at all, just got up and walked away with them. Wheeljack was excited, in a horrible way, for her to be going through fear. It was only fair that she should.

But by the time they brought her back, he was less angry and more ashamed. In any case, Formulaic didn't scream or whimper like the others. She just curled up in the back of her cell and was silent.

The guards took Scramble away, and then Zinc, and then Highnote.

Wheeljack watched them go, feeling slightly resentful. He wondered if the process could be sped up at all. He didn't want to sit here, angry with himself if he could be in a session, getting closer and closer to finishing it.

When they brought Scramble back, he sat down in his cell quietly for a while, then softly announced that he was past curiosity. Only one stage left for him, and then he was done with the round. Lucky. Wheeljack wanted to growl at him.

Then Wheeljack was taken away.

It wasn't always Neurosis who ran your session. Sometimes, his underlings were trusted with it. They had enough rooms and equipment to work on three mecha at once. That didn't mean that there were always three gone, of course, but it did mean Wheeljack didn't always have the satisfaction of screaming at Neurosis.

This time, it was two assistants.

"Hmmm," One of them said once Wheeljack was secured to the berth. "Looks like he hurt his arms. We should fix this before we get started."

"No!" Wheeljack growled. "I don't want you to fix me. I want you to leave me alone!"

The medics didn't listen. Wheeljack protested as one of them slipped a pain chip in his neck, and then started working on his arms while the other one opened up his helm. He struggled, but it didn't do any good when he was magnetized to the berth.

Then, once Wheeljack's arms were fixed, they got started.

* * *

Wheeljack was the only one not recharging when the guards came in. They were bringing someone back… who was that? Wheeljack looked around the room and realized they were all there.

This was someone new.

It was a femme. The guards shoved her into the empty cell between Highnote and Trueblade, where she sat, staring up at them with wide optics until they left the room. Then she looked around. Downtime—with what seemed like a lot of effort—got to a sitting position.

"Hello," Highnote said quietly, yawning.

The new femme wrapped her arms around herself. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What's going on? Where am I?"

Wheeljack snorted. "You don't know?" he demanded.

Highnote shot him a half-offended look and turned back to the femme. "How about one question at a time. Can I ask one? What's your designation?"

The femme sobbed, and didn't answer.

"Hey," Highnote said. "Calm down. Things are going to be all right."

"Ha," Wheeljack said. "Things are going to be all right? Shut up, Highnote, nothing's going to be all right. Who are you?" he demanded of the femme. "Slag, she's not going to last very long, is she?"

"Come on, Jackie," Downtime whispered. "Don't do this right now. Just be quiet."

"I'm not going to be quiet," Wheeljack snapped. "Not unless that nuisance is quiet. She's barely gotten here and look at her—crying like she's on stage four already. She won't last very long at all."

He realized he was playing the role that Borealis had in the beginning. He looked across the room and saw that the new femme was glaring at him.

"Come on," Downtime said, sounding exhausted. "Let's all introduce ourselves. I'm Downtime. This is Wheeljack. Don't mind him, he's not really like this most of the time."

"Shut up!"

"This one's Formulaic," Downtime said, pointing to the cell on his other side. "Past that is Nanolight."

Nanolight growled through the bars.

"Articulate as ever," Wheeljack grumbled.

"I'm Wayfinder," The false happiness in her voice was gone.

"I'm Scramble,"

"Z-Zinc." Zinc stuttered.

"Borealis."

"Trueblade."

"And I'm Highnote," Highnote said. "How about you?"

The femme took a deep vent. "I'm Haven," she said. "What is this place?"

"The Institute," Wheeljack said. "You know what that is?"

Haven blinked at him. "It… that's just a rumor."

"Ha," Wheeljack said. "Just a rumor. You're an idiot."

"Wheeljack…" Downtime said softly.

"I need to get out of here," the femme said. "I… I have a youngling at home. They made me break my bond with him. I need to find him and make sure he's all right…"

Wheeljack laughed. "You'll never see him again. No one gets out of here."

"Shut up!" Formulaic screamed suddenly, startling Wheeljack a little. They all looked at her, but she didn't elaborate.

"Uh…" Haven said, trembling. "I… there has to be a way out. What _is_ this place?"

Wheeljack let them talk to her. He would only make things worse, the more he said. Not that he thought this new femme deserved to be comforted. Or that she deserved to be lied to. She ought to be told the truth—that there was no way out of here.

They came for Wayfinder just a few breems later and took her away. Haven asked in a hushed voice where they were taking her, and Wheeljack bit down on an angry retort, realizing that the femme was understandably curious and worried. He wished she'd shut up, though. He wished all of them would shut up, stop explaining things to the new femme, and leave him alone. Wheeljack curled up and went back to trying to recharge.

Wayfinder came back without sadness. She sat down in her cell and looked at her hands until Downtime bothered to ask her if she was all right.

She nodded, but didn't say anything.

Haven asked what was going on, and they attempted to explain it, though no one really liked talking about shadowplay. Wheeljack was almost feeling civil when the guards came for him next. But when they brought him back, he was as angry as ever. He insulted them all, mocking them, laughing at them, and pointing out everything they were afraid of or sad about or _anything._ The only one he couldn't get through to was Scramble, who just smiled at him and told him that he was forgiven.

Formulaic and Borealis were taken away.

"Hey, Wheeljack," Downtime said, "You've got the bolt, right? Can you pass it to me? We've got to get it around to Haven so she can write on the wall."

Wheeljack glared at him.

"When you're ready, of couse," Downtime said solemnly.

"It's stupid," Wheeljack picked up the bolt from the corner of the room. "Why do we even do this?" He looked at the schematics he'd drawn on the wall, and was tempted to cross them out."

"Hey," Downtime said. "Whoa, whoa, don't, Jackie, please, we need your drawing intact. Come on, we've got to have something to remember you by if we lose you."

"Ha," Wheeljack said. "None of you want to remember me." He looked down at the bolt. "Why would you want to remember anyone. No one's going to see this slagging wall!"

"Calm down," Downtime said. "Just wait a few breems, all right?"

"No!" Wheeljack turned around. "You want the bolt?" He sneered at Haven through the bars of his cell. "Fine, you can have it."

"No!"

Wheeljack threw the bolt through the bars. It hit the floor and rolled, coming to a stop in front of one of the still-empty cells. Everyone stared at it.

"Thanks," Trueblade muttered. "That was the only form of expression we had left."

Wheeljack backed away to the corner of his cell, ashamed of himself. He didn't apologize, though. He didn't think it was worth it. Besides, the bolt was a stupid idea anyway. Who would want to read their designations? Who cared? No one cared.

He was still sitting in the corner, sulking, when Wayfinder gasped, helm snapping up. The others looked at her.

"Wayfinder?" Highnote asked. "Are you…"

She screamed. It was a scream of pure, agonizing misery, like a broken bond or the death of a loved one. She screamed so loud Wheeljack was tempted to shut his audios off.

"She's relapsing," Downtime gasped, standing up in his cell. "Wayfinder! Wayfinder calm down!"

"What's going on?" Haven asked.

"She's relapsing," Downtime went to the door. "Wayfinder! Wayfinder, can you hear me? Primus, this is not good…"

The door opened and three guards came in. They went to Wayfinder's cell and opened the door. She was lying on the floor, still but screaming. One of the guards bent to pick her up."

"No," Scramble said. "Leave her. Just leave her and open my door."

"Mine too," Downtime said.

Wheeljack watched, annoyed at the noise and commotion, as the guards unlocked the cells Scramble and Downtime were in. Both of them went into Wayfinder's cell. Scramble picked her up and held her close to him, muttering words to her that no one could hear over her screaming, while Downtime bent over her as well. Wheeljack turned away.

"Would you make that femme shut up?" he growled. "Someone just take her voice box out."

"She could be dying," Trueblade said. "Relapses can kill you."

"A relapse of what?" Haven asked. "What's going on?"

Eventually, Wayfinder's screaming died down to nothing. The guards dragged Scramble and Downtime out of her cell and locked them back up. Wayfinder lay curled on the floor of her cell and didn't say anything to anyone.

"She's going to be all right," Highnote said. "Don't worry, Haven. If she were going to offline, the guards would have taken her away. She's all right."

Wheeljack wasn't entirely sure he wanted her to be all right. If she were offline, at least he'd never have to hear her whining anymore.


	5. The Losing Battle

Wheeljack watched the cell door close, feeling like there was a hole in him somewhere. The guards walked away, and he stood there, staring at the door. No one asked him if he was all right. He didn't deserve that. A wave of guilt washed over him, and he leaned against the bars, surprised that he felt anything. He hadn't, after phase one. He'd just felt numb.

"Downtime?" he asked.

"Hmm?" The other mech was still on phase four, which was sadness. He'd been joined by Highnote, and Borealis too, so it seemed like everyone was sorrowful.

Except Wayfinder. When Scramble had been on phase five he'd laughed. Wayfinder just lay on the floor of her cell and stared up at the ceiling with a look of bliss on her faceplate. It was actually a little creepy. Not frightening, just eerie.

"Downtime, I'm sorry."

"Done with phase two?" Downtime asked glumly. "That's good, I guess."

"Are you all right?" Wheeljack asked. "I… I was horrible. I can't believe myself."

"It happens to all of us," Downtime said. "It's okay."

Wheeljack shuttered his optics. "I'm sorry, all of you."

Haven was in phase one already, but Scramble was in respite—that time between rounds. He was willing to talk, if you wanted to talk to him, but he spoke without inflection, or any sort of feeling, and if anyone tried to start up a conversation with him, Formulaic would scream at them to shut up.

"She's going to die," Borealis said quietly.

Everyone looked at him. He was staring in the direction of Wayfinder's cell.

"I agree," Scramble said quietly. "The likelihood of her offlining has increased. That was the second time she had a relapse. If she continues to have them with this regularity, she will very likely not finish…"

"Shut up!" Formulaic screamed. "Shut up! I'm afraid! I'm afraid."

"Calm down, Form," Downtime reached through the bars of his cell toward her.

"No," Formulaic said. "I don't want to calm down. I want to be afraid. I won't give it to them again. I want to be afraid…" she sobbed.

"It doesn't change anything," Scramble said quietly. "You won't be afraid for long."

"She's going to die," Borealis repeated. "She's not going to make it. I don't want to watch. All of us are going to die—there's no way out of here."

"Silly," Wayfinder breathed. "I'm fine. I'm just perfectly wonderful." She smiled up at the ceiling.

Wheeljack looked down. Free from anger, his helm felt a lot clearer. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

No. It was definitely bad. It was the most horrible thing in existence. These mecha, locked down here—these mecha were not the same mecha they had been before coming here. Having a newcomer made that abundantly clear. All of them were broken. Trueblade, Highnote, Scramble… even Downtime, who was still always so considerate, was broken.

Wheeljack was too. If they let him out right now, he would have no idea what to do with himself. He belonged down here in the darkness now, in this cell with dried energon from his own arms smeared on the wall.

Haven was the newest and therefore most sane, and she was curled up in the corner of her cell, muttering restlessly to herself about scraplets and darkness and dead younglings.

Wheeljack had been cruel to her as well.

They sat quietly, sorrowful and suffering. The only mecha who weren't depressed or afraid were Wayfinder and Scramble. It had been better when everyone was on phase three. That was where Wheeljack was going next.

Hope.

He wondered vaguely what that would be like. Hope wasn't such a bad emotion. It would be a nice break from the anger and fear, and afterward there would be sadness. He waited, feeling dull and lifeless. The guards came and went, taking Wheeljack's fellow prisoners away and bringing them back again, until they finally came for him.

Wheeljack got to his pedes and let them lead him out of his cell. He felt the optics of the others on him, as they dragged him up the stairs.

He knew Neurosis would be there in person, because Neurosis was always there at the beginning of a phase. He was not disappointed.

"Well, Wheeljack," Neurosis said. "How are you doing?"

"All right, I suppose," Wheeljack said. "How about you?"

"Wonderfully," Neurosis said. "I think Scramble might finally be finished, what do you think?"

Wheeljack shrugged, not wanting to show how uncomfortable that made him. If Scramble moved on, there was nothing he could do about it, so why should he care?

"And you," Neurosis said. "You're doing marvelously. I was a little worried at first, but it shouldn't take more than four rounds for you. Maybe only three, if we're lucky."

That would be kind of nice. Then Wheeljack would only have to endure the first two phases two more times each. A small part of him argued that that wasn't a good thing, that he should be fighting this.

But he really didn't know how to fight it. He wasn't sure how to fight at all, now that he had no anger.

"Now," Neurosis said, "You are finished with anger, and it is time to give us your hope. Once you reach this point, it shouldn't be very difficult. I will show you your hope, and you will see that the only thing it does is tie you needlessly to the future and the past."

Wheeljack let them magnetize him to the berth and open up his helm. Hope didn't sound so bad, comparatively. Maybe, he mused, he would never have to go through fear and anger again if he could just stay on hope forever. Why would anyone give up hope?

The emotion washed over him, a prickling, longing sensation that filled his spark. Wheeljack relaxed into it.

Then it was gone, replaced with blankness and numbness. He gasped, but it was back a moment later. Yes, there was hope. Wheeljack might escape. He might even be able to find Shockwave before he did. He could get them both out. Things would be all right.

No. There was nothing to hope for.

Wheeljack shuttered his optics as the feeling returned a third time. He clung to it, trying not to let it go, but then Neurosis cut it off again.

And again.

And again.

Wheeljack sobbed, scrabbling to keep the hope in his spark, but each time he found it, it would disappear. Each time he had hope, he would lose it.

He was barely conscious when they took him from the berth and down to his cell again. A warm feeling of peace and hope was creeping into his spark. He clung to that, then, and held on as hard as he could. Because he knew it wouldn't last.

Hope hurt, just as much as anger or fear, because it had no place in the Institute.

* * *

It was true that there were better things about hope. Half the time, Wheeljack felt like things weren't so bad. Half the time, Wheeljack was absolutely certain he would be able to get out. He felt more kindly toward his fellow prisoners as well.

After his second session of hope, Wheejack even dared to pretend to trip so he could pick up the bolt. He passed it through the bars to Haven, even as the guards shocked him with their energon prods.

But the sessions themselves… there was something worse about them. The moments of numbness had been moments of respite in the first two phases, but in the third, the numbness was the pain. Hope was better than nothingness, and _anything_ was better than that moment when hope was lost. He had thought the third phase would be easier to bear than the others. He had been wrong.

Trueblade offlined while Wheeljack was in hope. The other mech was still in stage four, inexplicably stuck on sadness.

They brought him back one orn and left him in his cell, like normal. No one noticed anything different about him at first. He sat, as he often did, with his back to the back wall of the cell, looking across at Formulaic's cell, optics dull and faceplate nearly expressionless.

Then, oddly, he got to his pedes, frowning thoughtfully, and walked over to the cell door.

"Trueblade?" Downtime asked. "What's up? Did you finish stage four?"

"No…" Trueblade said. "I feel… strange."

He took in a deep, shuddery vent and gripped the bars on the cell door, shaking.

Wheeljack stood as well. "Trueblade?"

"Is that… my designation?" Trueblade said. "I don't think I can remember it. Primus, I'm miserable, where am I? Where the pit am I?"

"You're with friends," Borealis said, standing as well, and reaching through the bars into the cell between them, where Haven was cowering. "Calm down, it'll probably pass."

"No," Trueblade stumbled, then fell to his knees.

"Trueblade?"

Trueblade gasped, then coughed and energon poured past his lip plates to splash on the ground.

"Are you feeling sick?" Scramble asked impassively. "That's unusual."

"Trueblade!" Wheeljack stared, unable to look away. He was just feeling sick, that was probably all. Nothing to get too worked up about. This sort of thing happened once in a while.

"Trueblade, don't do this…" Borealis whispered. "Come on, mech."

"Trueblade?" Downtime said. "Trueblade, please…"

Trueblade coughed up more energon. It was coming from his optics too, not just his lip plates, and running in rivulets down the sides of his faceplate. There was a horrible gurgling sound and the flood of energon from Trueblade's face thickened. His processor was bleeding. That was not his tanks.

The guards came in, followed closely by Neurosis. Formulaic screamed at them the whole time they were there, and Wheeljack couldn't believe that it was too late, not until Neurosis backed up, and ordered the guards to take Trueblade's chassis and dispose of it somewhere.

Wheeljack couldn't cry. He didn't even know if he could be sad. Part of him still thought Trueblade was online, for orns after that—or what felt like orns at least. It was hard to tell anymore.

And then, several sessions later, he finished the stage, and he was left with an empty sort of clarity. He realized, as the guards shut his cell door behind him that Trueblade was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

That had been Shockwave's cell as well.

Wheeljack wondered if Shockwave was offline or if he was wandering around somewhere with emptiness behind his optics like there was behind Scramble's.

They took Scramble away shortly after that. Formulaic screamed at them again, and then burst into desperate sobbing once they were gone. Wheeljack thought he understood.

She had been in the Institute longer than any of the rest of them now. She was still fighting, but it was only a matter of time before she gave in too.

* * *

Wheeljack wept. His processor didn't need to invent excuses like it had when he'd been in stage three. He didn't need to explain to himself why he was suffocating.

Numbness.

The numbness always came as such a shock. He was so tired of it, and he couldn't imagine being anything but miserable. He was surprised that anyone could feel anything else, or that anyone could let go.

Trueblade was offline. Wheeljack had only known three mecha to die before that. His own creators, and then Searchlight. But this was different. He had heard the misery in Trueblade's voice for decaorns and decaorns before his spark had pulsed that last time. Trueblade had been quiet, unassuming, and even in his misery, he'd been something like kind.

And Wheeljack had watched him die.

So he wept.

Then the numbness returned again, when Neurosis severed the connection between his emotional core and the rest of his processor.

The numbness hurt almost as much as the sorrow.

But not quite. Not quite as much—that was why Wheeljack knew that some orn soon he was going to give up the sadness and slip into the numbness instead. He wasn't strong like the others. He didn't fight like Formulaic did, or refuse to stop caring like Downtime did. He was more like Zinc or Haven, who were both on stage three now.

Numbness.

Wheeljack wept when the horrible, crushing misery came back, and then disappeared one final time. He wept as Neurosis detached cables from his processor.

"Hmm," the medic said. "You're leaking a little. We'd better keep an optic on this, maybe give you an orn off before we continue." He sighed. "This system is still so delicate. I can't believe we lost another one."

The pain chip came out, and Wheeljack's processor throbbed. He whimpered as Neurosis closed the back of his helm up, and then had a hard time standing. The guards had to drag him down to his cell, and drop him to the ground before leaving.

"Wheeljack?" Downtime asked from the cell next to him. "What did you think about this time during your session? You're still on stage four, aren't you? Was it different this time than it usually is? Did Neurosis say anything interesting?"

Wheeljack moaned and sat up. He didn't answer Downtime, though. Downtime was in stage six now—curiosity.

"Did you know, I got Nanolight to talk this orn?" Downtime asked. "Watch this. Nanolight, say hi. Nano?"

Nanolight hadn't spoken a coherent word since he'd started stage two. Now he was still in stage three, and tended to make vague, wordless noises. He seemed to understand what everyone else said, but he didn't speak.

"I don't think it was really a word," Wayfinder said. "I think it was just a fluke. But it might have been. We can keep trying to get him to talk."

She was also on stage six.

Nanolight grunted inarticulately.

"I think Neurosis must have broken his voice box or something," Downtime said.

"No, silly," Wayfinder replied. "It's not staticky. I think he just doesn't have words anymore. I wonder if Neurosis has noticed or not."

"He probably has," Downtime said. "They do have cameras."

"Oh, right," Wayfinder said. "I wonder where the cameras are. Let's try to look for them. Can we try to look for them?"

Wheeljack buried his faceplate in his arms and trembled with misery. They were all dying, and broken, and it was getting worse and worse. None of them were going to make it out of here. Either they would be taken away like Scramble, or they'd die like Trueblade.

The guards came in and brought Formulaic with them. She was spitting curses vehemently. She seemed to enjoy being in the second phase and would be like this for joors after every session. She screamed curses at whoever was nearest, or maybe no one at all, shrieking hysterically, unreasonable. As unpleasant as it was to hear her shouting, Wheeljack hoped she stayed on stage two, because that meant she wasn't going to be taken away permanently like Scramble, at least not yet.

New mecha showed up. They replaced Trueblade, and filled the cell on the other side of Wheeljack. Downtime got to know the newcomers, but Wheeljack didn't want to. He knew it wouldn't matter in the long run.

"Do you ever wonder…" Wayfinder asked, looking at her hands. "What makes them move when you want them to? I mean, I _understand,_ but I feel like there must be more than wires and cables, and energon, you know."

"Interesting thought," Downtime said. "What do you think, Wheeljack? You're the scientist."

"Highnote's the medic," Wheeljack responded.

Highnote laughed. "I am, aren't I? What can I help you with? I mean…" he chuckled again. "Neurosis is a better medic than me."

Stage five. Happiness.

Wheeljack shuttered his optics and let himself zone out, and drown in misery until he slipped into recharge.

* * *

They had brought Wayfinder back looking bored and dull. Downtime had suggested an experiment they could do, but she had informed him that she wasn't interested in anything like that. She was finished with stage six.

Wheeljack knew that stage seven was supposedly the hardest. Borealis thought so, at least. Not that Wheeljack cared much what Borealis or anyone else thought. Time had started to merge together, until Wheeljack really wasn't certain about it anymore. A large part of him wanted the entire process of shadowplay to be over as soon as possible. If he could be finished after one single round, he wanted to. He had never signed up for this. He had never claimed he was strong-willed or particularly brave or noble. He was no Shockwave, no Searchlight. He was just a scientist. He loved to make things, and build things and think about things.

He missed that more than anything else.

"Are you sure you're done with stage six?" Downtime said. "It hasn't been that long."

"I guess I'm not a naturally curious person," Wayfinder said, then looked down at her hands.

Wheeljack looked away, feeling utterly miserable.

Then someone gasped. He looked up again.

"Wayfinder?" Borealis asked. "That's… what are you doing?"

Wayfinder was looking down at a cupped hand, filled with energon. As Wheeljack watched, she bent forward and drank from it, then stuck one of her fingers between her lip plates and… bit it off.

"Wayfinder, what the slag!" Formulaic said, suddenly sounding very lucid and concerned. "You idiot! Don't do that!"

"Wayfinder, what are you doing?" Downtime looked confused.

"I think she's relapsing," Highnote said. "Look, she wants to see what's inside her hands—she was talking about it earlier."

"I wonder if that hurts," Downtime said. "Wayfinder, stop, it's not worth it, I promise."

Wayfinder bit off another finger, then spat it out. Energon speckled her faceplate and there was a mad light in her optics.

One of the new mecha, one still on stage one, started screaming in horror. Wheeljack just watched, feeling a deadening blanket of sadness clamp down on his spark. Wayfinder had always tried to be friendly, even when she was utterly miserable. He remembered the first time he'd talked to her, and how she'd put false cheerfulness in her voice.

"Wayfinder, _stop!_ " Formulaic screamed. "Stop, _stop, stop!_ "

Wayfinder didn't stop. She ripped her whole hand off, then started on the other one, tearing at it with her denta, getting energon all over her faceplate, all over the rest of herself. The guards came in and dragged away. She tried to bite them as well, but they knocked her out and carried her out of the room, dripping energon from one wrist.

They came later to clean up the mess, including the bits and pieces of her hands that she had torn off.

They never brought Wayfinder back.

The session after that, Wheeljack let go of his sorrow. It hurt too much, so he just let go of it, intentionally, knowing that happiness was next, and that it would be somewhat less unpleasant.

* * *

It was. Happiness was more strange than anything else. The numbness didn't hurt, like it had with hope. It just felt odd, and it made the times in between even funnier. After each session, Wheeljack found himself laughing hysterically, unable to stop, even when Formulaic raged at him to shut up—especially when Formulaic raged at him to shut up. It was only funnier in those moments. Funnier and funnier and funnier until he laughed so hard he could barely vent the atmosphere. The unbelievable humor of the situation usually lasted right up until it was time for another session.

Stage five didn't last long for him, at least not long enough.

Curiosity took longer than the others. Wheeljack built things in his cell with random bits of the wall that he could pry off, and even sometimes pieces of himself. Apparently, Shockwave had gotten technical and started explaining advanced science when he was in this stage, but Wheeljack just built things, and asked questions. Sessions were painful, like with every phase. The emotion was itchy and hot and Wheeljack struggled against his bonds because there was something he just needed to _try,_ so he would _know_ whether or not it worked. He chatted nonstop to Neurosis as well, asking question after question about the shadowplay process and the equipment he was using.

Wheeljack had always defined himself by his curiosity. At first, he held on to it, not wanting to lose it, but as time went on he started to long for the end of the stage. He was so tired, physically and mentally, of the constant need to build and create and _think_ about things. The others went around. Downtime went into respite, as did several others. New mecha showed up. Some died. Wheeljack kept track of it all with scientific fascination. Formulaic went through again and then at the end of the round sat silently for orns in her cell, staring at the wall.

When the curiosity finally left, Wheeljack felt like something was broken in his helm. They took him back to his cell and dumped him on the floor. He sat up shakily, feeling empty except for a processor-ache.

"Wheeljack?" Downtime asked. "Finally?"

Wheeljack blinked. There was something in his optics. His processor ache spiked and he gasped, shuttering them. He felt liquid flowing down his faceplate and when he opened his optics again, he could see a blurry puddle of energon on the ground. He realized vaguely that this sometimes happened, and that he could be dying. Did mecha die when this happened? He found he didn't particularly care. Distantly, he realized that he probably _should_ care. Another spike of pain hit and Wheeljack screamed, despite himself. He thought he heard someone call his designation, but he couldn't answer. Darkness closed in and a black, dripping sound filled his audios.

It was a long time before his helm cleared and it still hurt. He realized he was lying down and sat up, trying to brush the drying energon from his faceplate.

"Wheeljack?"

Downtime was staring into his cell. The mech would be out of respite soon. He was recovering. He actually looked concerned.

"Wheeljack?"

"Yes."

"Are you all right?"

"I think so."

"Are you done with curiosity then?"

Wheeljack nodded, then looked down at his own, energon-streaked hands, then the drying puddle on the floor. His helm still ached a little.

"The first time through is the hardest," Downtime said. Wheeljack noted without much interest that Downtime looked worn down and exhausted. He had finished his second round. Wheeljack looked away from him, suddenly in pain that he didn't quite understand. There was only one more stage, after which Wheeljack would be in respite. That might be nice. Sessions weren't very fun. Fortunately, because of his reaction to finishing stage six, they would probably leave him alone for a while now.

The guards came in and stopped at Formulaic's cell. She looked up for the first time in orns when they opened the door, but didn't stand. When they approached her, though, she shot to her pedes and threw herself at them, screaming. Wheeljack watched passively as they fought with her and eventually dragged her away, still screaming. She came back quickly, though, and when they put her back in her cell, she returned to her place in the corner.

* * *

As he'd predicted, Wheeljack was left alone for a while before the guards came for him. But they did come, eventually. They took him to Neurosis's lab and restrained him on the berth.

"Well," Neurosis said, "Things have gone pretty well for you, haven't they? We got through quickly except for curiosity. One more and you'll be in respite for a while. How are you feeling?"

Wheeljack shrugged.

"Good," Neurosis said. "Let us begin. Wheeljack, you have one more thing you must give me before you can truly be free. Love ties you to other mecha. It makes you a slave in their presence and weighs you down when you are alone. Once you give it up, you will no longer have anything keeping you from your freedom."

"Freedom, huh?" Wheeljack said quietly.

"Yes," Neurosis said. "Nothingness _is_ a freedom of sorts. Now…" He approached the berth.

Wheeljack stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the pain chip to slide in, and for the uncomfortable feeling of having his helm opened up.

Then he was hit by a wave of emotion. It was even more jarring, compared to the relative void he'd felt since the end of stage six. He screamed, because it felt like it was tearing him apart. Then it was gone.

The second time it came, it didn't hurt so much, but it was still uncomfortable. mecha flashed through his processor, and activities—mostly things from his previous life.

Creating things. Working together to build a groundbridge.

Numbness.

His creators. All of his friends at school.

Numbness.

It was love, but it was a strange kind of love, because there was no happiness or sadness associated with it, only a strong desire to make other mecha happy and a helpless feeling because Wheeljack could not do anything while he was lying on this berth.

But after several breems he realized that this, his being here, was what Neurosis wanted, and he loved Neurosis as much as anyone. So he tried to lie still and cooperate, desperately hoping to make the medic's work a little easier for him.

* * *

The guards shut Wheeljack in his cell.

"Thank you," he said.

They laughed and moved to the next cell. Downtime took in a sharp vent.

"No," he breathed. "Please not yet. Primus, _please_ "

They opened his door.

"Primus don't care about glitches like you," One of the guards said. "Out."

Downtime got shakily to his pedes and exited the cell. They took him away.

When they brought him back, he was mumbling to himself about his femme and sparkling, worrying that they were offline or hurt. Terrified that they would end up in the institute as well. Wheeljack reached through the bars and Downtime clung to his arm, shaking with terror and misery. Wheeljack was helpless to comfort him, but felt bound to do what he could, even though he didn't share Downtime's fear.

As time went on, Wheeljack started to get the other emotions back along with love. You simply couldn't _feel_ love without feeling other things as well. Other mecha needed your emotions, and even more, _you_ needed them to help others. The emotions didn't come back with much strength, but they did come back. Then, when Wheeljack finished the final stage, the love took everything else with it and left him utterly empty.

Alone.

Free.


	6. All That's Left

There was peace in the nothingness, or at least an absence of turmoil. Time was nearly meaningless and pain was nearly imaginary. Feeling was foolish. Why waste your time feeling things when you didn't have to? Wheeljack sat and watched the others. He watched Downtime tremble and Highnote laugh and Borealis dream of escaping. Why would anyone _want_ all of that emotion?

He recalled wanting it, but couldn't imagine why.

As time went on, and the mecha around him moved through the stages, Wheeljack eventually started to feel again. The first thing was fear. It started as a vague uneasiness in the back of his processor. He didn't feel as if there was something wrong with the situation, though. He felt like there was something wrong with him. It was unpleasant, and made him somewhat jealous of the other mecha, because they seemed to have some reason to exist and he didn't. Then the fear grew until he remembered why he was afraid. Slowly, other things returned, and the world came back into focus, until the orn that Wheeljack could care again.

* * *

The guards dropped Downtime on the floor of his cell and walked away. He lay there, silently for a few astroseconds, and Wheeljack started to worry.

"Downtime?" he said softly.

Downtime took a shaky vent and let out a quiet sob.

"Downtime?" Wheeljack scooted over to the edge of the cage and reached his hands in through the bars.

"I wish they'd kill me," Downtime sobbed. "I wish they'd kill me… I want this to be over. I just want it to be over."

"Come here," Wheeljack said.

Downtime got to his knees and stared miserably through the bars at Wheeljack. "I'm never getting out of here anyway," He said. "I'm never going to see my sparkling again."

"You'll feel better in a few joors," Wheeljack said. And he knew he was right, but he pulled his arm back through the bars. Why bother? It was true Downtime would feel better in a few joors, but then they'd just take him out for another session and he'd feel worse again.

He was right about none of them ever leaving.

"They're going to take you again soon," Downtime said.

Wheeljack nodded. He knew it was true, and it terrified him. Part of him missed the numbness at the beginning of respite. A large part of him missed it.

He was going back into stage one.

Fear.

Downtime eventually sat up again. Wheeljack remembered how Trueblade had been stuck in sadness from the orn Wheeljack had showed up to the orn the other mech had offlined. That wouldn't happen with Downtime. He always tried to be optimistic, even when he wasn't on stage three, and he always stayed on that stage longer than the others.

Wheeljack stomped on the sudden jealousy he felt. Hope was somewhat pleasant when you weren't in a session, but there was no reason to feel jealous of anyone else in here.

He wondered how long he'd been in the Institute. Part of him felt like it had been vorns. Another part realized it couldn't have been more than forty or fifty decaorns.

His fear only grew as he was more and more aware of his situation, until the orn that they came for him.

The guards stopped at his cell door. Wheeljack had known somehow, that they would. He got wearily to his pedes, conscious that the others were watching him. None of them wished him luck. The only lucky thing that could happen to you was dying, and he wasn't sure whether that was good luck or bad luck.

He walked between the guards up the stairs, trembling, but with his helm held high. He would walk there with dignity, at least this first time.

They reached Neurosis's lab, and the guards made to strap him down to the berth, but Neurosis held up a hand to stop them.

"Wait," he said. "I want to talk to him first. Wheeljack, would you please sit down?"

Wheeljack hesitated, then, with the guards still looming over him, he sat down on the berth. Neurosis sat down as well, in a chair by the side of the room.

"Now," he said. "I'm sure you all wonder about what happens when you're done disconnecting yourselves from all emotion."

"What do you mean?"

"After a certain number of rounds, we take the subjects away and don't bring them back," Neurosis said.

Wheeljack blinked. Surely he wasn't ready for that. "But…" he said. "You said it would take me three or four rounds…"

"No, no," Neurosis said. "You still have a few rounds to go. I just wanted to explain to you what is about to happen. There is a second level of shadowplay. Once you learn to cut yourself off from all emotion, we can build those emotions back in whatever way we want. For example, we could give you a thrill of love and hope and happiness every time you think about assisting the Council. Then, you would be even more loyal, because the only thing you would care about was furthering the goals of the government, and you would feel nothing toward anyone or anything else."

Wheeljack took a deep vent and let it out slowly. "That's horrible."

"It's wonderful," Neurosis said with a bit of a smile. "It's brilliant, it's _science_ , Wheeljack. Surely you can see it. I envision you, some orn, as a head engineer for the Defense Committee. You could make such powerful weapons for them."

"I won't," Wheeljack said.

"It doesn't matter what you will or won't do now," Neurosis said. "Only what you will or won't in the future. But this is not an argument I have time for. At the end of the second part of shadowplay, there are a series of tests and trials that the subjects need to perform and complete before they can be re-integrated into society, just to make sure the shadowplay was successful. We tend to personalize a few of these tests and trials, because every one of our subjects has different obstacles to overcome. One of our subjects is ready for the second to last of these exercises. I would appreciate your assistance in administering the test."

Wheeljack felt a chill down his back. "Why… why would I help you?"

"Two reasons. One: What I need you to do ought to be relatively easy for you. And two: if you do it, I will give you an extra decaorn of respite… or… at least a decaorn of respite after your first session of fear, which will be performed this orn."

Wheeljack looked down.

"It's simple. I just need you to beg for mercy. You will do all you can to convince the other subject to stop. Do you understand."

Wheeljack froze. He had a suspicion he knew where this was going. But...

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Do we have a deal?"

"We have a deal." Wheeljack could barely feel himself speaking the words. Everything seemed surreal all of a sudden.

"Thank you," Neurosis said, then turned toward the door. Not the door Wheeljack usually came through, but a different one.

One of the guards went to open it and a mech stepped through. Wheeljack felt his spark pulse increase in frequency as he stared into the optics of a friend he hadn't thought he'd ever see again.

"Good orn, Neurosis," Shockwave said in a perfectly neutral voice. Then he looked at Wheeljack. Wheeljack was almost surprised to see recognition on his friend's faceplate. "Wheeljack."

"Shockwave," Wheeljack stood. "Shocky, Primus, are you all right?"

Shockwave frowned. "How did you end up…?" He stopped and looked to Neurosis.

"You are free to speak with him," Neurosis said. "If you wish."

"I am only curious as to why he is here."

"He came looking for you, to rescue you," Neurosis said mildly.

"Shockwave," Wheeljack took a step toward his friend. The guards moved to stop him, but Neurosis waved them back and sent them to stand by the door. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't know you had disappeared. No one told me. I didn't find out until recently. I could have come and saved you before you were…"

"Saved me from what?" Shockwave asked calmly. "Shadowplay?" He shook his helm. "You do not understand yet, do you, Wheeljack? I have not been destroyed, but freed. There is no longer anything in the way of my true self."

Wheeljack shook his helm and took another step toward his friend. "No. This is not you."

"You are being illogical," Shockwave said dismissively, and looked at Neurosis again. "Am I here to complete a test?"

"Yes," Neurosis said. "Would you like to begin?"

"Have I not already begun? You have managed to locate a mech who I once called a friend."

Wheeljack froze. "Shockwave…"

"Please restrain him on the berth," Neurosis said. "He's just out of respite from his first round, and this orn, we're performing a session of stage one."

Shockwave nodded, then looked back at Wheeljack. "Please lie down on the berth," he said.

"Shocky, no…" Wheeljack took a step away.

Shockwave stepped forward. His hand shot out and grabbed Wheeljack's arm. Wheeljack didn't resist. He couldn't. "You remember me, right? Shockwave, you remember me?"

"Yes," Shockwave steered him over to the berth, and shoved him down onto it.

"I know you're still in there," Wheeljack said. "Fight it. Come on, Shocky, you'd never do this. You know you'd never do this to anyone."

Shockwave magnetized him to the berth. Wheeljack was venting hard, trembling. "I know you. I know you wouldn't do this. Please. Please, don't your remember? Primus grant that I die innocent."

Shockwave hesitated.

"You wrote it on the wall," Wheeljack said, noting that Neurosis was watching with an almost alarmed look.

"You fought it so hard," Wheeljack said. "You were fighting for almost a quarter of a vorn. How many rounds did you go through? How many, Shockwave?"

Shockwave was silent for several astroseconds.

Then he spoke again. "There is no such thing as innocence," he said, "only ignorance. When I wrote that, I was ignorant."

"No…" Wheeljack said. "Please. Don't do this…"

"Fighting shadowplay is illogical," Shockwave said. "Neurosis, would you assist me?"

Neurosis stood and walked over to join them.

"Stop," Wheeljack said. "Keep fighting it."

"There is nothing to fight," Shockwave said. Wheeljack felt a pain chip slipped into the port on his shoulder, and a moment later, his helm was opened up.

"I'll show you how this works and then I'm sure you can continue on your own," Neurosis said.

Wheeljack shuttered his optics as Neurosis walked Shockwave through hooking everything up in his helm.

"There," Neurosis said at length. "Now, I want you to watch and notice what happens when I stimulate the fear. Can you see how you would cut it off?"

"Yes," Shockwave said.

"Shocky?" Wheeljack said.

"That is not my designation, nor does it even decrease the number of syllables in my designation," Shockwave said. "It is illogical to speak to me in such a way."

"I know this isn't you," Wheeljack said. "It's okay. If you're still in there, I want you to know I forgive you."

Neurosis snorted. "Really, Wheeljack? He isn't sorry. He's not capable of regret anymore. Thank you, though. You did very well."

A wave of terror washed over Wheeljack. He screamed as it engulfed him and waited for it to be cut off. He waited for the numbness to come, and then the fear again, and numbness and fear and numbness and fear until this nightmare was over.

Part of him had hoped he wasn't too late. Part of him had still hoped Shockwave wasn't completely gone.

There was no reason to hope anymore.

* * *

Wheeljack lay curled up in the corner of his cell. He was shaking, but he wasn't afraid anymore. He was too busy to be afraid. He was finished. He had come to save his friend, and he had failed, and now there was only one thing left to do. It had fixed itself in his processor as a singularity: one goal, while he could still complete it—while he wasn't too far gone.

"Wheeljack?" Downtime asked. Wheeljack narrowed his optics and focused on what he was doing. The tiny device in his fingers wouldn't quite cooperate. He was shaking too hard to finish putting it together just yet. He needed another half a joor. Then he could stop pretending he was afraid. He had a decaorn. He didn't need to rush.

He didn't talk to Downtime. He was too afraid of telling the other mech what he was going to do. If Neurosis knew, he would step in and stop it. Wheeljack would have one chance. He practiced his plan in his processor again and again, coming up with scenario after scenario, planning each one out as he built tiny devices out of parts of himself and the cell, bending them into the right shape with his fingers. Pain didn't matter.

When he was finally ready, he stood up.

"Wheeljack?' Downtime said. "I was worried about you…"

Wheeljack walked to the door and stuck one of the tiny bombs he'd made right over the lock.

"Wheeljack?" Downtime asked.

"You said you wished they'd kill you," Wheeljack said softly.

Downtime just stared at him.

"With any luck, you'll get your wish." Wheeljack detonated the bomb. The lock broke and the door swung open. Everyone in the room stared. Then Zinc started begging to be let out of his cell as well. Wheeljack ignored him and sprinted up the stairs. He tried the door at the top and found it locked. So he stuck another bomb over the lock and backed away. He turned back to look at the room behind him one last time. The rest of them looked back. Wheeljack met Formulaic's piercing gaze and saw her smirk.

Then he detonated the second small explosive, and opened the door at the top of the stairs.

He made directly for the lab. He didn't know where anything was except for the three lab rooms. None of them were occupied at the moment. He had waited for that, before beginning. If they were all locked, he'd have to use a larger explosive to open them, because the doors were reinforced.

But fortunately, the first one he entered was unlocked. He slipped in and shut the door behind him. He locked it, then for good measure he dragged a heavy medical berth in front of it and tipped it on its side to block the door.

The effects of his most recent session hadn't quite worn off yet, and he was _terrified._

He shuttered his optics and tried to calm down and focus on what he needed to do. After a few astroseconds, he felt something snap in his processor, and he wasn't afraid anymore.

Wheeljack flung cupboards open and dumped equipment out onto a pile on the floor, looking for the pieces he needed. The very first thing he built was a spark dampener to hide his life signal. Fortunately, Neurosis's lab had a wide variety of materials.

It was going to be harder to build large enough explosives.

He was still working on the spark dampener when someone started banging on the door. He didn't let it distract him, but stayed focused. He realized that he was going to have to keep moving. He wouldn't have time to make bombs here. He'd have to bide his time, or find a better bomb.

When Wheeljack's spark dampener was finished, he found a welder and turned it onto its highest setting, then started cutting a hole in the floor. The banging on the door got more desperate, and Wheeljack heard the berth scrape across the floor slightly. He didn't have much more time.

He finally got a smallish, roughly oval hole that he could barely fit through. He squeezed in and dropped into the floor below. It seemed to be storage of some sort. He turned his optics as bright as he could and started looking for a way out. He knew they were going to break in above him before too long, but fortunately he found an exit in the form of a locked door and ran to it. His last small bomb went on the door. This door was flimsy, though, and it was blown completely off its hinges. Wheeljack dodged through it and ran. He had one more bomb. It was larger than the others, but not nearly large enough.

They were going to find him. He knew they were going to find him.

Wheeljack skidded to a stop in front of another door. He could see a faint blue glow coming through the crack at the bottom.

A sudden idea hit him. If he was right about what was in that room, then maybe he had a chance. He peered closely at the lock and realized it shouldn't be too hard to hack. It took him only half a breem before he managed to get the door open.

The room was full of large containers of energon.

Perfect.

Wheeljack left his final bomb stuck to a cube near the bottom and out of the way. They'd have a terrible time locating it, even if they did know what room to look in.

Then he ran from the room and down another corridor. It would only be a few breems. Then the whole place would be a pile of rubble.

Wheeljack still had the welder from the lab. He wondered briefly if he ought to try to escape. But what would he do if he managed it? At the thought of the outside world, a seed of fear wormed its way back into his spark.

This place was under a mental hospital.

The explosion was going to kill possibly hundreds of innocent mecha.

Wheeljack slowed to a stop. He hadn't thought about that.

Was it worth it?

In the distance, he could hear running footsteps. The bomb was about to go off. Wheeljack braced himself and counted down in his helm.

Two… one… zero.

Nothing.

No.

Wheeljack stared at the wall in front of him. No… it hadn't gone off. They must have found it. Or maybe it had been faulty.

Wheeljack turned around to see two guards coming for him. Terror won and he sprinted in the other direction. A dead end rushed to meet him, but even before that, the guards ran him down. He screamed as one of them jabbed an energon prod into his back, using it to force him to the ground. They picked him up and dragged him, struggling and kicking back the way they had come.

Wheeljack was afraid again. He screamed as he struggled, relishing the pure, vibrant emotion, because he hadn't felt anything like it in ages. Real fear, not simulated terror. Fear for his life.

They had to nearly knock him unconscious with the energon prod before they could take him up to one of the labs—one of the ones that didn't have a hole in the floor. Wheeljack expected to be greeted by Neurosis there, but he was not. Just two of the medic's assistants.

"Put him on the berth, then go," One of the assistants said.

Wheeljack was forced down onto the berth, then restrained there. One of the assistants hooked something up to Wheeljack's helm. It hurt, but he was nearly beyond caring about pain. He had failed. The bomb hadn't gone off.

Then one assistant went to the other side of the room, while the other stood over Wheeljack.

"Now," he said. "You're going to tell me exactly where you put that bomb. Do you hear me?"

They hadn't found it then.

"What?" Wheeljack said.

"We saw you break into the energon storage room on the cameras. Give us the exact coordinates of the explosive device, and we will let you live."

Wheeljack didn't want to live.

He said nothing.

Pain hit, like nothing he had felt before. The ceiling blurred above him, and he was beyond screaming.

When it finally backed away, he could feel himself slipping into blackness.

"Pit," the assistant said. A few astroseconds later, he felt something injected into a primary energon line in his arm. His senses sharpened, and his processor started running full speed again. The pain intensified, no longer dulled by the fog of imminent shutdown. Wheeljack screamed then, and fought to get off of the berth.

"Tell us," the assistant said. "Tell us the coordinates of the bomb."

Wheeljack took in a deep vent and shuttered his optics. They used this drug on him, whatever it was, every time he had a session. It would keep him from slipping into stasis. But he didn't think they'd ever used this much before. He felt… awake.

"No," he said.

He would never tell them anything. Not even if it didn't matter anymore. Not even if they were going to find the bomb anyway. Not even if telling them would make them stop hurting him. He wasn't going to give them anything anymore. None of his emotions, none of his fear or his sadness or love, or _anything._

He wasn't going to give them anything else.

He screamed again when they brought the pain back, but when they asked a third time, he still refused to tell them where the bomb was. He counted down in his helm again and again, waiting for the explosion that was never going to happen, or waiting for _something._ For the drug to wear off, for the pain to kill him, for them to give up.

Three…two…one…

Three…two…one…

Three…

Something made the floor jump beneath the berth. There was just enough time for it to hit the ground again before the wall burst open and the room was engulfed by blue fire.

* * *

Wheeljack never quite lost consciousness. His processor never quite shut down. Warnings flashed across his vision. Temperature: Critical. Energon levels dropping. Severe damage.

His optics had been shorted out, but they came back online after a few moments. Dust drifted in front of him. He was the only light in the darkness.

He was alive

He was still alive.

Primus, why was he alive?

 _I will show you your fear…_

No.

Wheeljack shifted, and felt more weight settle on top of him, crushing him against the broken pieces of medical equipment below.

He was free of the berth now, but he was still trapped. He might as well be offline, because he was going to be buried under this building until he leaked out.

He took in a choking vent of dust and coughed as it ground in his engines.

 _You will give me your hope…_

They wanted everything. They wanted _everything._ Everything…

He struggled and somehow pulled himself forward, out into a larger pocket of empty space. Debris shifted and settled. He shuttered his optics, trying to fend off dizziness as his energon levels continued to drop. The rest of them were probably dead. Downtime and Nanolight and Formulaic and Highnote…

 _I'm not afraid anymore._

"No!" Wheeljack gasped.

He shouldn't be conscious, he realized. Without this drug coursing through him, he would still be under that pile of rubble. He would have offlined before waking up. But here he was, alive, and the shifting of rubble had let in a thin stream of sunlight from above.

He had forgotten how bright sunlight was.

He stared up at the light, waiting for death to take him.

At least Shockwave was offline now. All the others too. They shouldn't have been able to survive an explosion that large. Wheeljack shouldn't have been able to either.

He was the only one alive.

 _I'm not gone._

 _I'm all that's left._

He had a sudden, powerful need to get out of this pile of rubble and into the sunlight. He got to his knees, then to a crouching position. The top of his helm bumped against the slanted piece of the roof that could fall at any time and crush him.

He ought to be dead. But Primus must have seen fit to keep him alive. There was no other explanation. Part of him had wanted to die. All of him had wanted to die. But now he had to keep going. To keep trying.

 _You will give us your fear first._

Perceptor had lied to him. Shockwave had betrayed him. Or maybe Wheeljack had betrayed Shockwave.

He had failed. They had both failed. Shockwave hadn't lasted long enough and Wheeljack hadn't come soon enough, but it wasn't their fault.

Wheeljack started digging his way out.

It was easier than he had thought it would be. Even as badly injured as he was, he made it to the surface, and stood. The damage wasn't as extensive as he had hoped, but the place had been essentially destroyed. Only a small wing of the building was still standing. Wheeljack could hear something in the distance, like enforcer sirens. But there were no rescue teams looking for survivors yet.

Wheeljack crept away from the building, until he was free of the rubble, and then lay on the ground in a nearby empty street. Damage reports blinked across his processor, along with a warning that he was in danger of going into stasis soon.

Somehow, he couldn't care.

 _All of the mecha we have successfully completed the procedure on—every last one—has expressed gratitude for this freedom from emotions._

No.

Wheeljack forced himself into a sitting position. "I am afraid," He said, more to convince myself than anyone else. "I am afraid, I'm still afraid. I still care. I have to still care."

 _There is no longer anything in the way of my true self._

There had been no rescue teams.

Wheeljack suddenly understood. They wouldn't want anyone finding out about this place. They wouldn't want anyone alive to tell the story. If they sent teams in, they would be to kill any survivors, not rescue them.

Well, it was gone. It was over. Wheeljack had stopped them. Neurosis was dead.

He was a killer now. He had done it, and He'd done it on purpose. Somehow, in the open atmosphere, that was different. Condemning. He was a killer. He had killed the innocent..

 _There is no such thing as innocence._

Wheeljack still had the welder from Neurosis's lab. He pulled it out of subspace and turned it on. Then he wrote on the ground, melting the words into the metal street.

Primus grant that I die innocent.

Wheeljack didn't want to die in this place. He subspaced the welder and started limping away, broken, barely mobile, and still leaking.

 _The first thing you will give us is your fear_

"I won't." Wheeljack collapsed, and everything started to fade. "I don't want to be everything left… left alone…nothing… we are nothing."

 _All that's left…_

* * *

Wheeljack woke to the sound of beeping equipment. He thought for a moment that he was still in Neurosis's lab, but then before the fear could catch up, he realized he couldn't be. He un-shuttered his optics and found he was lying on a berth in a white-painted room, hooked up to a whole lot of monitoring equipment.

"Hello," A cheerful voice said.

Wheeljack turned toward it and saw a femme standing there, holding a datapad.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I…" Wheeljack said. It couldn't have all been a nightmare, could it? "I don't know…" He didn't really feel anything.

"You were found lying in the street, nearly offline, and brought here. This is a hospital in Altihex."

Wheeljack blinked a few times.

"Can you tell us your designation? We weren't able to identify you as a citizen of this city. If you tell us your designation, we'll be able to help you."

"No…" Wheeljack said. "I can't… I can't remember."

If they found out who he was, the government would come looking for him. They wouldn't want anyone who knew about shadowplay to be running around on their own.

The femme sighed. "All right."

"There was an explosion," Wheeljack said. "A mental hospital."

"Yes, that same orn," the femme said. "We wondered at first if you might have been one of the patients, but we couldn't find anyone with your description on the list of patients there."

"Survivors?" Wheeljack asked.

"A few," the femme said.

"Did they find all of the dead?" Wheeljack asked.

The femme frowned at him. "I'm not sure," she said. "Why is that important?"

"Was there anyone else unidentified like me?" Wheeljack asked, suddenly worried.

"There were… two others, I think," the femme said. "Both of them are offline… I… do you know something about that explosion?"

Wheeljack shook his helm.

Two other mecha?

Neurosis's assistants?

They had found them.

But what about everyone else? Why hadn't they found any more bodies?

Had they evacuated?

Primus… had they evacuated? Was Neurosis still alive?

"Are you all right?" the femme asked, taking a step forward. "Calm down."

"No," Wheeljack said. "You can't have… my fear."

"Were you at the mental hospital? Do you remember?"

Wheeljack shook his helm. "I can't remember anything."

He could see in her optics that she didn't believe him. "Why don't you lie down, and stay calm, and I'll be right back with someone who might be able to help you."

"Ok," Wheeljack said.

She left and Wheeljack sat up on the berth to look around the room. There were no other mecha, but there was a window. He got up, pulled free of all the medical equipment and went over to the window.

He was on the second story.

That would be all right. He backed up a few steps.

The femme came back in with a couple of mechs, and shouted at him to stop, but he leaped forward and collided with the thin, clear crystal that made up the window.

He went straight through, and fell to the ground below, then got up and transformed. The transformation hurt enough to make him scream, but it worked, and in another astrosecond, he was driving away. In a breem, he was deep in the crowds of the city.

He didn't know if they were chasing him.

He had killed innocent mecha.

But he would do it again, and again, and again. He would kill anyone, if he could kill Neurosis with them.

He needed to find the Institute and destroy it—that was all he cared about now.

There was nothing else left.

* * *

Notes/Acknowledgments:

1\. And so we come to the end of another story. Thanks for reading, hope you liked it, though it was kind of a mess, and also pretty dark sometimes.

2\. As usual, this story in its current form was made possible by my beta readers. I say that at the end of every story, but it's true. They're awesome.

3\. And that's how Wheeljack became a terrorist.


End file.
